


Dawner & Drow: Year of Slytherin’s Chamber

by LegionLight, MisterSeason (LegionLight)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Gen, Is mostly a rewrite of my original fanfic, Will mostly follow Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:55:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25412737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegionLight/pseuds/LegionLight, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegionLight/pseuds/MisterSeason
Summary: ‘In a world where magic residesWhere from nature limbs, sparks fly and form streamsWhere status of blood dividesTwo with twin Blues, met beneath sun beams.One free pair shined brightAs honey hair stood in flourished lightOne curtained pair dimmed in shadeAs darkened strands of rust swayed.Come now, come witness their startBeyond the ninth month’s riseCome now, come read their storyOf Dawner and Drow, sharing more than ocean eyes.’
Kudos: 1





	1. Two with same Blues

Mass of connected white, occupying most of the day-sky. Long-since sprouted bark, consisting of pillars both straight and crooked. Groups of shaved sods, regrowing slowly just like the changing foliage hues. Lone and gathered stones, covering most of the dirt ground. One wide rounded hole, containing both water and recent bridges of single sticks.

There is click. There is a quick pang. Then a flash is instantly spurred and formed!

Twin, deep-ocean Blues are blinded. They close, attempting to lessen the stinging hurt. Once it lessens, they flicker despite resulted irritation. Their vision fully clears, allowing them to see their patterned blinks be repeated. Then they stare, focusing on the differences between themselves and their puddle counterparts.

At the arrival of a giggle, they look away and to the left. A head covered by golden hair bobbled up and down, before turning. On and across a small button-like nose, was a scattered presence of freckles. A pleased smile grew into an excited grin, revealing teeth made up of yellow and white. Two almost sparkling olives, immediately met the Twin Blues. The wiggling, bracket-donning hand hovering near the girl’s rosy cheek, rapidly pointed down. 

Slithering along the top of one linear wood, was what could only be described as a plain worm. It advanced fives inches by fives inches, heading toward the far end leading into some sods. It passed by a few unbothered ants, completely unaware of the gazes watching it. And as it crossed over from wood to grass, it’s ignorance remained intact as another flash came and went.

Moments after using her shiny camera, the girl with olives rose. Her hand shot out. She grabbed and tugged at another, it not being her other. She gestured at a batch of nature green with her thumb. As she ran to it, two shoes matched the pace of her sandals. She sat upon a spot she declared as theirs, before taking pictures of an ant colony. Neither her or the Blues noticed a lone kid holding a stick, sitting it a tree’s shade a few feet away.

After that, the girl lead the Blues from spot to spot. Taking photo after photo, feeling absolutely ecstatic at every insect she saw. The joy actually grew to the point where she’d moved her olives over, and accidentally ignore quite a few. But fingers with nails shorter than hers, helped her find those she immediately missed.

Eventually her olives and the Blues lifted. Her sandals and the shoes moved on. They went around the lone kid. They headed over to the nearest tree. Then in just under a minute of examining i t, they found two rarities. The first was a caterpillar stripped green and white, beginning to munch on a leaf. And the second was a charcoal cocoon, dangling from a thick branch.

Right as her olives and the Blues began to stare, a crack formed on the protective case. There was a second, a third- a fourth! Instantly a winged creature emerged. A butterfly donning tints of yellow, stretched markings of violet and black, twelve ice-hues contrasting to two orange dots, and a tiny pair of tails.

Snapping out of her amazed state, the girl scrambled to take a picture. At the flash, the butterfly attempted to dodge by sharply flying to the right. When a second was produced, it rapidly began to distance itself. It headed towards a permanent crowd of trees, leading to a straight path of paved stone.

Following a moment of her bouncing, the girl tugged at the one hand on her shoulder. When it didn't move, she looked back with distress and let out an inpatient whine. Her distress immediately died at the sight of a folded, paper plane held within the other hand. As she felt another surge of joy, her wrist was than pulled by the first. And now with her being lead, her sandals ran behind the shoes.  
  
As they raced after the pretty insect, the girl laughed away as she waved her camera around. Her olives stayed centered on the winged creature. The Blues meanwhile looked back and forth between the insect, and the now high-held paper plane. Then when the distance separating them and the butterfly greatly decreased, they watched as the plane was made to fly near the insect.

As the race continued, the shoes ran near the trees to the right of the path. Now on the tail of the creature of flight, the plane was made to avoid incoming obstacles. It soared over and under stuck out branches. It turned and twirled pass hanging leaves. It underwent the same, exciting journey as the butterfly in front.

As the shoes tripped over a thick, surface root of a tree however, the excitement came to an end. The Blues could only widen, and then shut as a body collided against the ground. A groan sounded out, with hands quickly being pressed onto a hurting forehead and knee. A deep breath came and went. After a few moments the Blues reopened. Once they saw the bruise on the knee, they turned and hoped that the girl wasn't upset.

Strangely she wasn't there, not standing or sitting to the side. Like the butterfly, she was actually nowhere in sight. But that couldn’t be right. She was right behind, running the same speed as the shoes. Did the hand that was holding her wrist, let go of it some while ago? If so, where could she have gone?

A thought to look around the trees, made the Blues shift from looking down the two, straight sides of the path. Once the body got off of the ground, the shoes started heading to the nearest pillar of bark. But when the Blues had glanced over, and saw that there were a few tree-less spots, the shoes changed direction. Upon arriving at their edges, the Blues twitched at seeing what lied ahead.

Correction: it wasn't just what lied ahead, but also downward due to it's slope. It was a narrow path, covered in leaves and surround by various trees, If anyone were to try and walk it, they'd most likely tumble into enduring a bad slide. But from what the Blues could see, only one of the slope-paths had flattened grass and disturbed dirt. And at the end of it, what looked like a familar sandal was in view.

Just as he saw it, a hand jerked it out of sight. Shouts immediately came from below. Then there was a loud scream: “NO!”

The owner of the Blues didn’t need to think twice. After pocketing the airplane, they began hurrying down the slope. From tree to tree they moved, trying to keep their belonging body upright. However all carefulness was undone when the shoes tripped again. Soon enough, the body fell and start rolling. And throughout the ‘ride' down, arms and legs crashed against many branches.

Upon reaching the end, the head’s side smacked hard across the side of a tree. An instant pain racked out from the contact. There was a hiss, and then a whimper as a palm was put over the resulted bump. The vision the Blues provided gained a blur, along with some water.

Although that pain was gained, it didn't compare to the following wail: “PLEASE! NOT MY CAMERA!”

Ahead of the downed form, the Blues' watched a pair of pinkish arms hurling a silver object against a rock. Upon impact the object- her camera broke into two. Right next to the said rock, she was forcefully held back by someone pale. And just as their vision started to clear, a trio of cruel cackles spurred a jolt. That jolt being of anger.

Ignoring the bump entirely now, both hands pushed their connected body up. Then as the hands started reaching out, searching the ground, the Blues' vision quickly cleared. They could now make out three bullies, instead of two. One was a girl wearing her brown hair in multiple pigtails. The other two were boys with short, ruffled black hair.

While the girl with olives was crying, the many-pigtails girl stomped over to her. She loudly mocked her. After that, she began lecturing her about being ‘stupid'. Then she dared to raise her hand, and delivered a hard slap to her head. All that did was make her cry more, and cause a voice to shout: “OI!”

All eyes looked over at the speed of a blink. There was a 9 year-old boy, mostly covered in grass and dirt. Tears of fury leaked out from his ocean hued eyes. To the three looking-teens, he was a laughable kid trying to be hero. But to her he was a gift, a miracle, and-

“NO ONE HURTS MY BABY SISTER!”

Spurring forth from a wined throw, the rock whirled and hit its mark. The pigtail girl fell back onto her bottom with a yell. Her frantic hands seized her nose, attempting to stop ounces of red from trickling out. The two apparent boy teens didn't give her any concerned look. They just ran forward, and slid down to a crouch, and hastily pick up as many golf-ball sized rocks as possible. All while the big brother unloaded his own ammunition, throwing rock after rock with no hesitation.

It was only after he was out of rocks, did he move. He sprinted, heading straight for the trees. Stones paired in twos were fired his way. He jumped, ducked, and spun about to avoid as many as possible. Behind every tree he neared, he'd see and pick up all the sizable stones available. Once his hands were outright full, he used the closet pillar of oak as cover. Then with many flicks of his dominant wrist, he flung and threw stone after stone.

Once he had used every rock situated around him, the boy with blues dashed and stayed behind his cover. The two boy bullies began to advance, lobbing all of the ammo he spent right back. While their throws mainly lead to the tree being hit, the crushing of more and more leaves meant they were closing in. And once they reached him, they'd give up on tossing rocks and focus on beating him.

As he held his shaking, fist-forming hands up, he shut his Blues. Silently, he made many wishes. He wished that he could avoid their soon-to-be attempts at grabbing. He wished that he could actually fight them. He wished he could make them regret ever daring to harm his sister. And most importantly, he wished that he could've done more to protect her.

At the moment his eyes opened. A wave of power enveloped his anger. He launched himself from the tree. With a howling yell of determination, he threw a fist out. He expected the worst, but was determined to try his best

He didn't get to. Instead fierce winds blew forth. A whole bombardment of pebbles turned into zooming pellets, descended on the two boy bullies. Their wants to cause pain vanished. Their faces became ones of fear. And then they ran away screaming, leaving the pigtail girl the only one to suffer the punishment.

When all of the pebbles dropped back to the ground, all of his fury finally turned into shock. Slowly his fists unfolded, letting open hands hang in the air. He hoarsely breathed in and out, swaying to the left and right. His jaw dropped, just as his eyes nearly widened to the size of golf balls.

“Wha- What was-”

Another leaf being walked upon snapped him out of a stance. Now standing fully out in the open, in and around the cloudless beams of the sun, he turned. The maker of the crunching was the lone kid from earlier. Unlike him they were standing in the shade, underneath an acting filter of light. Their face had a messy mop of hair covering it. However, one near-pale nose had its tip pointed towards him.

At the sound of a whimper and multiple sniffles, the boy broke off his staring. He rushed over to his sister, who was on the brink of letting more tears fall as she cradled her camera. Her brother wrapped his arms around her.

“I-I…I'm s-sorry!”

“Not your fault sis, not your fault.”

She leaned into his embrace, denying his claims by shaking her head. “I-I fell. T-They f-found me. I-I was…a-annoy-annoying them.”

“They hurt you ‘cause you fallin’ was annoying?!” He yelled, causing her to nod against his shoulder. “That's no reason to hurt anyone!”

There was no response aside from quiet cries. He didn't say anymore to her, resorting to rubbing her back and tightly holding her. For a while that's all he did. But at the crunching of a new leaf, the boy looked back to the lone kid.

Still standing in the shadow of the tree, the lone kid seemed to nod. But then they raised a hand. With it, they brushed the hairs blocking their face away. Underneath was the face of a boy, maybe two years older than him. And his eyes-

While shock returned for the younger, it came to be formed for the older. Neither couldn't find any words to speak, nor make any ounce of sound. Neither couldn't give the distant, concerned shouts of familiar voices any focus. Neither couldn't move not a single muscle, as if they were forever attached to their ridged places. All they did was stare, and share the same internal thought.

'You…have my eyes.’


	2. The Dawners

September 1st of 1990. That was the day. The day when two discoveries were made. The day when he saw that his own Blues, belonged to one other. The day when he found out he had a gift.

At first his confusion, and big-brother instincts stopped him from trying to make sense of anything. He and his sibling needed to be taken away from the park. After they both had received bandages and care, they both were sat down on a comfortable sofa. They got a long overdue explanation, starting with the opening sentence of: “You’re capable of magic.” 

Despite him being told the truth, he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He’s capable of magic? But he couldn’t fly. He couldn’t repair anything that he broke. He couldn’t light any single candle up with fire. He had so many doubts. And it took a long time to accept, to understand that it was true.

Despite how that truth changed his life, some things remained the same. Every day he still woke up in a grounded bed. Every day he wandered straight out of his room, and right into the bathroom. Everyday he’d re-meet his mirrored self. Everyday he’d find the severely marked, two year ‘anniversary’ on the nearby calendar. Everyday he’d checked to see how far away it was. 

As of now, it was only a few days away. That fact made the honey-haired boy frown. He let his Blues linger on the shield-drawn markings, before he turned away. He picked the plunger back up from the floor. With a mild glare and tempted nerves, he unclogged the toilet. Then he watched as the toilet properly flushed.

After a quick washing of hands, he carefully walked out into the dim, candle-lit hall. He headed for the stairs, cautiously casting glances attwo separate bedroom doors. He descended the stairs, being as delicate as he can. Once he reached the ground floor, he sent a look back up and waited. Hearing no creaking and seeing no movement, he nodded and proceeded towards the kitchen.

Donning an apron of his size, he retrieved everything that was required before going about his duty. With a rag soaked in washing water, he scrubbed every surface inch of the kitchen furniture. With the broom he retrieved from it’s hiding spot, he brushed away at every nook and cranny of the floor. With the dustpan he brought out from the main cabinet, he gathered and disposed of every piece of dust he found. After dumping the bucket with soaped contents into the faucet, he set it aside.

Then he got to cooking. Eggs were cracked open. Bread slices were toasted before bacon strips were thawed. Four glasses and four were set down, side-by-side. With the juice of a fruit, three of the glasses were filled-

“Mornin’, Jeremiah dear.”

Jeremiah Dawner sighed, before slowly turning about and seeing an approaching pair of green-grays. “Mornin’ Mum.” A kiss was placed upon the top of his head. “I thought you were sleepin’.”

“Not since some minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry-”

“Ah-Ah.” A finger poked at his lips. “What’ve I told you about apologizing?”

“Don’t say sorry for that ain’t your fault.”

“Exactly that.”

“But I must’ve-”

“Nope. I woke up just like you, naturally. Although his snorin’ did push me to get outta bed.” She chuckled and ruffled his hair. Then she glanced at the pans getting use. “Would you like-”

“No, Mum.” The shakiness of his small smile, faltered. “Besides, breakfast is just about done.”

“Ok.” She ran her hand through his hair once more. Then she grab one glass of juice, and made her way to the rather small dining table.

Once all of breakfast was prepared, Jeremiah covered two plates with food and brought them over. He placed them across from each other. He headed back to grab his own drink. But then he paused. His Blues twitched, their sight locked onto the still empty glass.

“Jeremiah.” He swallowed down a thick-forming lump. “Please, come over and eat.” He wrenched his Blues away. He shook his head. Then with hesitant steps, he sat down opposite of his mother.

For a short while they ate in silence. His Blues avoided her green-greys throughout. He felt guilty, knowing she was watching him. But he let that guilt forcibly keep him focused on eating. He didn’t even think to take a single sip of his beverage.

It got to the point where she had to speak. “Listen, dear.” He didn’t dare to move his gaze. “I know things have been difficult recently. But I’ve gone and talked to the lunch lady, Ms. Abernathy. What remained of his egg was sliced into two pieces. One was darker while one was lighter. “She told me what happened. It wasn’t your fault, at all.” He let the fork hover, and then dangle above between both pieces. 

What’s she talking about happened a week ago. He was having lunch at his seat, at a vast and mostly open table. He got done halfway eating before there was a shout. It came from the table at the end. There was three lads, all short and chubby. They surrounded another, much more skinny boy. One of them grabbed and raised him up by his collar. He was spitting, yelling, and fuming over something to do with ‘pay’.

Jeremiah has had his share of experience with bullies. He encountered many that were tall, small, round, and so on. He’s gotten into scraps with some, if not most. The short, forever-remaining few scars on his forehead, and across one brow proved it. And then and there, he wanted to get up and do something.

“You did right by not reacting with violence.” But he ended up doing nothing. He just sat there, watching along most of the other kids. He went wide-eyed like em’, when the ‘main’ bully forced the boy’s head down onto the table. His mouth forced itself to stay sealed, when the boy’s head received hard punches. And while some kids laughed, he only stared when the main bully gave him a so-called ‘wedgie’.“Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” And despite how she meant to make him feel better, neither her or that familiar line did.

He had thought about doing something kinda right. But instead did something wrong. Not only wrong, but also something that was awful. Awful, worthless, weak. He was a freakin’ coward-

“Jeremiah-”

A series of quick, almost-miniature knocks interrupted her. She pushed her chair back. He stabbed the darker piece of egg. She headed over to the pane of glass. And as he shoved the piece into his mouth, she opened the window.

“Why ‘ello there little Adam, good morin’ to you.” He slightly lifted his head. Chipped, black talons lay on her sleeve. They belonged to thin, somewhat short toes. Those toes were the digits of feathered feet. Like the rest of the perched creature’s body, they carried the shades of black and grey. And their owner was the owl named Adams(otherwise known as Adams-well).

At the sounds of ripping, he resolved his Blues to raise even further. She pulled out two individual parchments. The unfolded one and gave it a quick read. She smirked, before opening up the second. Her smirk broke in favor of a squeal.

She gave Adams a pleased pat before walking over. “The list, it’s here.” He gulped as she handed him the second parchment. She nodded down to it. He stomached himself to read. And from the very first line of words, he knew that it was what he feared.

He opened his mouth. “We’re going today.” It became still and voiceless. “In thirty minutes.” It began to close as her excitement grew. “Oh I’m so glad- so happy! I’m going to make your sister’s awake.”

His Blues returned to the parchment, before his mouth had finally shut.

* * *

Throughout the last passed hour, what he called the ‘pot’ underwent a few ‘changes’. The car ride had stirred it. Them entering what his mother called a ‘pub’, made it start bubbling. When they found the entrance- when they crossed over from a back area, and entered a pretty and hidden ‘shopping center’, the pot might as well have reached a point of steaming. And for the last ten, maybe twenty minutes, the pot had gotten to a very bad state.

In shorter terms, Jeremiah was not having a fine day at all.

“Ooooooh where are we going next Mummy? Can we pleaaaaaaase go to the joke store now? I wanna get jack-boxes. And stink pillows. And luminous balloons. And fire crackers for me and Jeremy!”

But at the same time, he wasn't having a bad one either. For like many other times, his sister managed to prevent the pot from reaching it’s worst state. He didn’t think he knew why. He just had a guess. His guess was: because she was familiar, because she was family. But now that he was thinking about it again, that’s actually two guesses instead of one.

“-how much time do we have left, Jeremiah dear?”

He sighed before looking up. Although he definitely couldn’t see them, he felt his mind gather up numbers. He has a rather good knack for counting, and keeping track of time. It was he like had this invisible, but always functioning clock in his head. And like all other moments, he was quick about subtracting and rounding minutes. “Seven minutes, and twee- twenty five seconds before the book-signing.”

“Ah! Ok. If we can find it, get in, and buy the books fast enough, we can get out and go look for that joke shop Maddie.”

Although the 9 year-old puffed her cheeks, she relented for now the fourth time that day. “Alright Mum.” 

“Now come along you two. We’ve got to have quick feet, and peeled eyes!” 

As the Dawner mother lead her children, they passed and nearly bumped into a variety of witches and wizards. The most of them wore hats and cloaks, with plain or lightly patterned hues of: green, purple, or dark cyan. The least of them were parents and other children, dressed in somewhat more ‘normal’ clothing. As they all turned and walked in different directions, Jeremiah tried not to get caught up in staring. But he did, leading him be the cause of many, easily forgivable clashes of arms. And while he wanted to offer apologies, the rubbling pot in him made him say nothing.

Having given the few store signs ahead examining looks, he looked back down to the two papers in his right hand. With the swipe of his thumb, he pulled the list of supplies over the letter. He focused on the section showing the books. And read through the names of the authors again.

The same name being next to sevens books got his brows to lower, and his blues to narrow. Even though it was just a name, he found himself not liking it. It wasn’t because of it’s spelling. It wasn’t because of how it was pronounced. There was just something very...un-likable about it.

He opened his mouth ready to question his mother. But Madeline tugged repeatedly at both his sleeve, and their mother’s. 

“Mum I think I see it! It's behind us!”

“Behind us?” Sure enough, sitting a few stores back and across the threshold of cobblestone, the ‘Flourish' half of the title could be seen. “Alrighty then. Let's get going!”

After turning their short line of three around, they hurried on over to the store doorstep. They hadn't need to address the knob, as someone had left the door open by a single inch. So they pushed their way in, finding that a rather big crowd was assembled inside. The sight didn't worry his mother. She kept both him and his sister close, and maneuvered around the crowd.

“Phew. If we were just a minute late-” She shook her head. “Never mind that though- Good morning Mr. Bolton!”

A man dressed in brown dusty-appearing robes, seemed to ‘wave off’ a strangely eager women trying to get around the store counter. He had a rather ugly and frustrated expression, in which paired with a rather bushy mustache created a bad combination. Upon seeing the ginger-haired mother however, the expression only slightly lessened. Because even though he exchanged a frown for a smile, the agitation seemed to forever carved within his whole face. “Caroline Dawner, how are you faring these days?”

“Mostly well, thank you for asking. How about you?” 

He gestured to the assembled crowd with a distasteful, back-smack of his hand. “Bloody celebrities.” His eyes narrowed. “Please don’t tell me you’re here to see him too.”

“While he might be brilliant, he’s not as important my dear Jeremiah.” As she brought him around to stand in front, Bolton’s ice-blue irises dropped. They immediately harden when they met the twin Blues. “He’s my first of two children, and he’s going to heading to Hogwarts this year!”

“Really.” He leaned back from the counter. He tapped fingers across his leftward temple. Then his brows sharply rose. “Well?” He glanced at the list, now being tightly gripped. “Aren’t you going to hand it over?”

Jeremiah gulped, before silently nodding and passing the list to Bolton. In a few moments, his ice-blues skimmed the list’s contents. His frown returned, but only temporarily as a thin line swiftly replaced it. Then he set and pushed the list back into Jeremiah’s possession. “Just like all the rest.” His nostrils underwent a short flare. Then he turned around, and started walking towards the back of the store.

He was however stopped. “Now introducing the author of Magical Me, Gilderoy Lockhart!” By not only a voice of announcement, but also another man coming out from the back room.

He passed by Bolton without a care, and was greeted by a round of applause. He wore robes colored in sight-catching blues, matching those of his eyes. Wavy blonde hair that from a certain angle, would sort-of look like glimmering silk, resided on top of his hat-free head. His dazzling, full-on white teeth were showcased to the crowd with a grin. And as photos were taken of him, he winked again and again, enjoying the presence he drew of the many people gathered.

Amidst all the clapping, Jeremiah hadn’t joined in and merely looked at his list. He was one who bore the name. The name that was present near seven book-names. The name that was the author of that lot. The name that, now paired with a seen face, caused Jeremiah to be completely befuddled. 

His Blues glanced around, quietly eyeing the displays of cheer with. However at the other side crowd, there’s a red-head kid looking just as confused as him. When his- Jeremiah could tell if they were dark-blues or browns, met his Blues, he roughly shrugged his shoulders. All the red-head did was slowly nod.

Once the crowd's applause fell into mummers, Jeremiah poked his mother's arm and asked her in a whisper-tone: “What so great about the man writing books, Mum?”

“Gilderoy Lockhart has accomplished many feats that no other wizard has done. His books describe every one of them in great detail.”

“Feats?”

“Achievements- completed goals honey-pumpkin.”

The sweeten name made the boy's cheeks flash red, and his teeth grit behind shut lips. His sister giggling couldn’t help but further his embarrassment. He had casted his gaze down. Then he his fave behind one of his hands. But then...

“It can't be…Harry Potter!”

His head instantly perked up just as a few gasps rang out. Another kid, this time with black untidy hair, got grabbed and brought up by one photographer to stand aside Mr. Lockheart. At first glance Jeremiah was skeptical. But the lighting-bolt scar on his forehead, ended his doubt just as fast as it formed.

“Mummy! That's- That's-”

“I know, but you need to keep your voice down.”

While his mother carried a bright smile, his sister was practically vibrating with elation. Like many, if not practically everyone in the wizarding world, Madeline was a humongous fan of Harry Potter. Ever since she was told about who he was when she was six, she had always wanted to meet him. Now that she had seen him, and was in the mere feet away from him, she was practically at the ready to bolt towards him.

Thankfully she was held back. Their mother's hands were pressing down, and squeezing her shoulders. “Look at him Madeline, he seems to be uncomfortable with all the press.

“But- But Mummy he's Harry Potter!”

“Yes he is. But don't forget he's a child too. Being just older than you.” A whine broke out from the golden-blonde girl. But then she let out delighted “Ah-Ha”, and had began opening the rectangular pouch resting at her hip. “No you aren't allowed to take his picture.”

“But Mummy!”

Not wanting her and their mother to argue, Jeremiah intervened. “You take pictures of bugs, not people. Remember?” Her disappointed olives met his blues. She separated her lips, trying to form some type of denying reply.

When she spoke however, the exact opposite was said. “You're right Jeremy.” She let go of her camera pouch, and her shoulders slumped.

He kindly patted her sleeve. “No need for tha’. You got Zonko's to look forward to.”

“...You’re right, again. But-”

“-Yes, ladies and gentlemen!” Mr. Lockheart suddenly boomed, making his Blues return his gaze to the man. “It is with great pleasure and pride that starting this September, I will take up the post of Defense against the Dark Arts teacher, at Hogwarts: School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

“What?!” Jeremiah out-rightly yelled, his voice being drowned by the sea of applause. He glanced back down to the supply list, eyes widening. “That's why I gotta get all these books?” The idea of this Gilderoy- Mr. Lockheart being a teacher, seriously didn’t spring to life in his brain.

“Of course Jeremiah. Why else would you need them? You need to learn about the teacher, before you can learn anything from him.” His mother stated.

“Uh-huh.” He said reluctantly.

While minutes ago, he hadn’t the faint clue of why he didn’t like the name, he now knew the why. The way Mr. Lockheart had walked with stride, the way he posted before the flashes of cameras, and talked confidently made him out to be a Fame-Man. A Fame-Man, the type of man who’s extremely prideful about his fame. Jeremiah knew of this type of man, because he knew of one other guy who fitted the criteria.

Tearing his glaring Blues away from Lockheart, Jeremiah looked back to the crowd. Apparently after Mr. Lockheart's announcement, their wide spread had thinned. Some of the crowd seemed to leave, while the rest got into a mostly, orderly fashioned line. The signing of Magical Me copies had officially began.

“Here you go.” Bolton returned from the back, bringing and then roughly setting a stack of books down upon the counter. He looked as furious as Jeremiah first saw him. “You know the price, I hope.”

“I do.” With an uneasy smile, Caroline shook the appropriate amount of sickles out of a money pouch. She handed them to Bolton. He grunted, and tilted his chin down at the books. Jeremiah got the message, and attempted to carry the whole lot.

He barely managed to hold them up and steady. His sister let out a chuckle. “Let me help you Jeremy.” He didn’t reject as she took half of their number. 

“I hope you’re day becomes swell, Mr. Bolton.” He gave another grunt in reply, before pacing(more like dragging) his feet over to a nearby shelf. Caroline winched for the man. But then let out a sigh. “Oh well, let’s get a move-”

“Famous Harry Potter!” Once again at another interruption, Jeremiah’s Blues directed their sight towards it. The source of this one was a blonde kid, wearing black robes and sneering at the Boy-Who-Lived. By both the sound of his voice, and his next line of insults, Jeremiah knew he didn't like him.

“Leave him alone!” Pacing out from a noticeable group of red-heads, a girl with copper tinted hair stood infuriated in front of the boy. “He didn't want all of that!”

“Would you look at that: Potter's got a girlfriend!” The drawl got the red-head boy from earlier, and a girl with bushy brown curls to push themselves through the crowd. Once they both stood at either side of Harry Potter, and got a look at the blonde boy, they glared.

“What are you doing here Malfoy?” The red-head asked, seeming to be the most furious at 'Malfoy's' appearance.

“It should be obvious Weasley.” Malfoy snorted at the somewhat old clothing ‘Weasley’ wore. “Just like your reason for being here. Hoping to use the last of your parents funds to buy actual clothes?” He glanced at a cauldron in the copper-haired girl's grasp, it being filled up to the brim. “Or is that money already spent, buying up all of the second-hand books?”

The insult not only made Weasley's face contort into anger, but strucksensible cord inside of Jeremiah. They both took a step forward, ready to pounce on the blonde. But they both were held back. The red-head had Harry Potter and the bushy haired girl, while Jeremiah got kept in place by his family.

“Don't do it Jeremy!”

“No fighting Jeremiah. This isn't our business.”

Jeremiah huffed. He really, really didn’t want to be a coward again. But their words, along with the many people around caused him to stay still.

“Ron!” Another member of the red-heads, the adult man of the group, came to a stop next to ‘Ron'. “What are you doing? We really should get outside-”

“Arthur…Weasley.”

Walking in and stopping right behind Malfoy, was surely either his father or uncle due to the same hair color, and the similar drawling tone used when talking to people. The moment his and ‘Arthur Weasley's' eyes met, flames of turned-down animosity were quickly lit.

“Lucius.”

That animosity was equally returned, although not in the exact same fashion. The adult blonde strolled around Malfoy, and picked up a book from the girl's cauldron. He gave the worn piece of literature a short, disgusted grimace. Then he went on to insult. Sue, it didn’t say it the day at as Malfoy. But that slimy- no, that pompous tone clearly indicated that he wasn’t being decent.

The adult red-head, most likely a certified Mr. Weasley was able to keep his cool. But the glance of faint distain that ‘Lucius’/Mr. Malfoy(perhaps) sent to a man an women, now right behind the bushy haired girl, made Mr. Weasley’s knuckles somewhat whiten. In fact, his face was starting to gain a hostile shade of red.

‘Lucius’ turned his cold gaze onto Jeremiah. He frowned at Jeremiah’s face display of aggravation. He gave the boy’s mother, sister, and the unnamed man-woman pair more unsavory looks. “By the muggle company you keep Weasley, I'd thought you already sunk your family to the bottom.”

The tension was thick. The danger that it spawned, made it likely a fight can break out at another moment. Lockheart called out, loosely attempting to ease the air of hostility. It has done nothing, leading Jeremiah to move in front of his mother and sister. He steeled himself, readying to drop his books if needed.

Just as Lucius made the first live, grabbing ahold of one of the copper-haired girl’s books, yet another interruption came. But instead of it being in the form of words, it was heavy footsteps approaching the two men. The Blues turned, and stared in immediate awe at a giant of a man. He sported a large black beard, wild/untidy long hair, and either a pair of jade-blacks or deep-chocolate browns.

“Come on lads! There’s no need to start a fight. Lucius puffed, before letting the fall from his grasp. It smacked and laid upon it’s back against the floor. “There girl, take back the best of what your father can get.” He straighten his robes, and briskly headed for the door going out. “Come Draco!” And after he muttered: “See you at school.”, the blonde boy followed who might’ve been his father, the pompous-ass.

The giant man sighed. “No matter what those rottin' Malfoys have to say, none of et’ is of stinkin’ worth.”

Mr. Weasley unfolded his fists and took a deep breath. “I suppose so Hagrid.” With that saying, his churning animosity died. And in it's place was a weary, but rebuilding positive mood. “Enough about that. Let's get out onto the street.”

As Harry Potter, the bushy haired girl, the unnamed man and woman pair, and most of the red-headed group did as he said, the copper haired girl didn't move. Mr. Weasley noticed. “What is it Ginny?”

'Ginny' crouched down, and reached for the lone book. Before she could grasp it however, Jeremiah’s own pair of hands picked it up. She lifted her gaze, revealing her amber-browns to his Blues. In that instant there a spark. A strange spark, stretching and spreading from some place inside. It caused his arms have strange goosebumps, his legs to slightly shake, and a heat to be brought to his cheeks.

He cleared his throat, and handed the book out. “This is yours, ain’t it?”

“Yeah, thank you.” She said with a small smile, taking and placing the book with the rest. However his hands remained laid out, making it look as if he was wanted something. It took his mother giving his shoulder a swat, for him to draw back and drop the hands.

“You- You're kindly welcome.” He let out a weak cough. His Blues broke off eye contact. Then his gaze looked to her hair. “I- I'm uh...going to Hogwarts. Are you too?”

“She is.” Mr. Weasley answered for her.

“That's nice- nice to know.” He muttered.

Unbeknownst to him, Jeremiah's feet tried to take some steps back. But his mother's grip on his shoulders, held him in place. “My Jeremiah doesn't fare well with strangers I'm afraid. Just like me when I was his age.” She chuckled, holding her hand out. “Caroline Dawner.”

“Arthur Weasley.” The two parents shook hands.

“Really? The head of Misuse of Muggle Appliances Office?”

“Artifacts, not appliances.” 

“Ah. My mistake.”

“It’s no trouble.” Despite that assurance, the simple smile he bore lessened. “But Dawner, Dawner- I think I heard your name before.”

“You might’ve, since my father used to be an Auror. His name is Gregory.”

His green- pear irises widened. “Greg the Greatest Great?”

She let out a laugh. “Yes, he loved to flatter himself with that.” But then she settled down. “But I’m curious, did you know him?”

“Oh no, not personally. I’ve only heard of him-”

“ARTHUR!”

At that shout from outside, he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but Ginny here needs to get the rest of her school supplies. It was nice to meet you Ms. Dawner.”

“Same here, Mr. Weasley.”

The boy with blues and the girl with amber-browns looked at each other. They both exchanged quick, simple “Bye”s. Then as Ginny left with her father, Jeremiah watched her go.

“We need to head out too, Jeremiah.”

“Ye- Yeah, Yeah.” And after sparing his mother’s face a glance, he lead their family trio out of Flourish and Blotts.


	3. Departure of a Son

Besides the scattered, unevenly added-up 120 minutes, Jeremiah couldn’t get any worthwhile sleep. In fact for the last few days, he found himself to go through a pattern restlessness. His Blues would shut, seeing the blackness brought by their lids. He’d either gained a small bit of time to slumber, or just laid there trying and failing to do so. Eventually his Blues would open, seeing the shadowy outline of cracks upon the ceiling. Then he would roll onto one side of two, and repeat the process to no avail.

After his latest attempt, he groaned and decided to brake the cycle. He lay there, Blues fully open as they looked to the source of snoring. Madeline slept on to his right. Her arms were wrapped around his nearest sleeve. No smile or frown was formed by her parted lips. 

Taking a deep breath, he brought his hand over and softly tapped at her hair. When she asked him to stay in her room for the night, he said yes without a second thought. He had been wondering, hoping that a change of rooms could help. And he didn’t mind sharing a bed with her again. He’ve done it for a few years, wanting to help her in not getting any nightmares.

Seeing as how she was fine, and he didn’t stop being not-fine, he knew he had to get out. Out of the bed, out of the room. Two hours’ worth of sleep tonight was the most he could get. And he thinks he’s done his duty as a big brother, for now at least.

His Blues looked about the room. It would be easy to just wrestle his arm out of hers. But he wasn’t going to dare wake her. Better that she get sleep, instead of joining him in barely getting any. So in the majority of darkness, he had his Blues search for something to replace his arm.

They didn’t have to search for long. The ‘something’ was actually on the bed. It was down, right next to his knees. He pulled it up. He slowly pressed it against his sister’s fingers. Her arms’ grip loosened. Then as he quickly shot his arm out from her grasp, he replaced it with the plushie of a lion.

After making sure he hadn’t disturbed her, Jeremiah crawled and then slid off of the bed. He headed out, deciding to start up his line of duties. Like always he entered the bathroom. Seeing as the toilet wasn’t clogged, Jeremiah merely went on to clean the whole place. He couldn’t bring himself to see the calendar.

He proceeded down the stairs. He put his apron on again. He brushed up and disposed of a handful of dust. He settled for wiping the kitchen counters clean. He opened up both the fridge and large cabinet with easy. He got out the plates and cups. Then after thinking through what he should cook up for breakfast, he brought out: beans, a carton of milk, and the boxed batter of pancakes. 

He had just flipped the pancakes, when he heard a certain clack. He didn’t what else to describe it beyond a clack. It followed after one footstep. Two bulbs, residing above his head came to life. More light than that of a morning’s dawn, filled the room.

“Good morning, boy.” Spoke an old, frosted voice as the clacks and footsteps neared. “I’d thought you would’ve learned by now.” One hand aged by forty or so years, clamped down on the back of his neck. “Only fools, cowards, and others of their ilk try to work in the dark.”

Jeremiah bawled up his hands in tight fists.

“Not to mention, how you forgot one important piece of advice.” Out of bottom corner of his right-sided Blue, he saw a ridged finger point to the pan. “Concerning this type of work, it’s smart to make use of butter. If you don’t- well, take a look.”

His Blues struggled but then obeyed, seeing the sticking scraps of pancake.

“Make sure to learn from this, permanently.” With that said, the man pulled his hand away. He moved off to the left, letting the words hang in the air. He ignored the milk carton as he opened the fridge. A bottle of what looked like sickly, apple cider was brought out. And the forty-or-more aged man, quickly drunk a third of it’s contents.

He stood in place alongside his cane. Watching the 11 year-old boy with dual navy-blues. Carrying a firm frown upon a chapped mouth. Judging with unpleasant thoughts. Causing the pot to suffer through the second, most-terrible state. 

After getting to the end point in his cooking, Jeremiah covered two of the plates with food. He poured milk into two cups. He placed the occupied cups and plates together. He stored both sets away in the microwave. There wasn’t much food left for him, or the man.

He turned around. He didn’t dare meet the older face. He headed over to the table. He took a seat. Then the man came over, his twin navies bearing down upon him. 

“Your mother and I will be expecting a letter, this night. The next day we’ll both write, then send our own back together. I suggest that you read them. I suggest that you reply to them. And I suggest that you understand what I say.” There a long, heavy-weighted exhale. “Do you understand?”

He barely managed a nod before fast creaks came from the stairs.

“Good morning Daddy!”

“Good morning, Madeline. How did you sleep?” There was a sudden shift, a sudden uplift to his tone.

“Same as us I hope.” His mother said, walking up from behind his sister.

“I slept quite like a cat, I reckon’.” There was without a doubt, up-turned lips now being displayed.

“A cat?”

“Are you sure, love?”

“One-hundred percent, Caroline.” There was this pleasantness, this warmth.

“How about you, Jeremy?” 

Jeremiah attempted to perk up. But he instead winced. He couldn’t be a liar. But there only so much he could say, with those unnerving navies eyeing him.

He settled for: “I didn’t get a lotta sleep.”

* * *

Five and a quarter hours. Within that timeframe, he found himself facing many difficulties. Difficulty in giving two of his school books another, easily distracted attempt at reading. Difficulty in watching familiar shows on the tele. Difficulty in playing with, and helping his only sibling in searching for bugs in the backyard. Difficulty in being almost as happy, as excited as his mother. Difficulty in trying to bloody speak, with or without him nearby.

Now, Jeremiah was vibrating in his car seat. His head pressing against the window, every so often tilted forward and back. His wake-agitated Blues were fixated on the passing attributes of the countryside. He listened on and off to the conversations between his fellow passenger, and the driver of their family’s old beige transport. He had wanted to join in, to ask questions in order to regain some forgotten answers. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, he argued to himself that he shouldn’t.

He tried to just close his Blues. He wanted them to at least rest. But his spoke up. “What about you Jeremiah?” He sighed, meeting the reflection of her green-grays. “You still haven’t given me an answer on this: What are you most eager to learn about at Hogwarts?” He shrugged. “You don’t know?” He gave no confirming or denying reply. She frowned, but let the matter drop as her green-grays fully returned to the road.

A hand grasped one of his fingers. “Would you like to hold Griff, Jeremy?” Madeline asked, holding out her lion plushie. He didn’t say yes or no. He only gave it a stare. A stare that while he thought was plain, made the joy leave her olives. “Are you ok?” He let out a mutter. “What?”

His hand wrapped around her own. He turned his Blues away. He pressed his head against the glass again. He sucked in his bottom lip. He wouldn’t tell her.

She didn’t press him. She simply gave his wrist a soft squeeze. She lowered and rested her head on his shoulder. And her olives looked onward.

The rest of the ride lasted for another ten minutes. When they had reached the station, there was little-to-no difficulty in finding a parking space. The same could be said about the process of getting Jeremiah’s trunk, and the owl cage into a rickety but moveable trolley. Adams flew down and landed on-top of the cage. He had been following, flying from a distance by Caroline’s orders. When the cage’s gate was opened, it was only due to her beckoning that he entered it. And once the gate was shut, the family trio proceeded into King’s Crossing station. 

His mother and sister took the lead. They stayed close, talking about some unknown subject. Occasionally either one of them would send him a glance. Looking worried while he trailed behind, firmly gripping and pushing the trolley. He wanted to ask, but the inside pot prevented him.

They found the the platforms of nine and ten with ease. They passed by two pillars of stone. Then they stopped altogether before the third. His mother and sister neared the trolley. “Remember: on the count of 1.” He and Madeline nodded. “3...2...1!” And together they started off with a dash, running right towards the pillar-

And they truly came out of the other side.

The half-bright, half-shining beauty around them, soared high above in comparison to the somewhat dull appearance and atmosphere of King’s Crossing. There were various of free-strolling cats and caged owls. Families ranging from sizes small to large were standing about, talking amongst to each other. And a marvelous scarlet-black train, puffing shaded-gray smoke, was positioned beneath an overhead sign labeled: Hogwarts’ Express, 11 o'clock.

Astonishment formed upon his facial features. “This…is…”

“It’s amazing!”

Their mother chuckled. “‘A wondrous sight to behold’, is how your grandfather described it. And despite how many years it’s been, he’s still right.”

Taking a deep breath, Jeremiah had to look away from his mother’s nostalgic expression. His Blues shifted, seeing and then lingering an each of the many people present. The old in the form of grandparents. The young in the form of children, of all ages above toddlerhood. Pairs upon pairs of families feeling dazzled, proud, happy.

“Jeremiah-” He jerked his whole body around. “Before you board the train, we need to talk.” She crouched down, causing his blues to finally greet her green-grays. Her fondness of revisiting the train was gone. In it’s place was a sincereness, born from a heart-tugging concern. “Please, tell me what’s troubling your mind.”

What felt like hastily-thickened blocks had emerged from the dire pot. They were invisible, but stretched out from his wind pipes. They were formless, but expanded to touch four corners of his throat. They had the weight and strength of steel. They had begun to form a cold barrier-

“I can’t.” The blockage came to a halt. “I can’t go.” He almost croaked.

“Can’t go where, dear?”

“I- I can’t leave.” His fingers stopped twisting around themselves. “I- I don't wanna abandon you.” His Blues started gaining moisture. “I- I don't wanna abandon Maddie.” 

“You’re not-”

“I- I don't wanna abandon my de- duties, our ha- home.” Trembling hands found and pressed into her shoulders. “If I- I do then I- I’ll…be no one good. I- I'll just be stu- stupid, horri- horrible, we- weak.” They latched on and squeezed. “I'll be- be useless, friendless.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks. Sniffs left his small nostrils. Knees shook with nearly enough force to give out. Shoes desperately tried to stick and stop tapping against the ember-stone ground. 

Caroline Dawner took a shaky breath. She blinked back her own sorrowful waterlines. A hand brushed gently through his hair, as the other found a place atop on of his own. She patiently waited, not daring to urge him to finish.

When his tear-ducts started to dry, and he produced shaky hiccups, she wiped away what lines of silver sorrow remained. She slid against his cheek. “You and your loving heart won't be abandoning us. No matter the distance, or how long we're separated, you'll have a permanent place in our family. As well as everything you've done, and every ounce of your care you've given. In spirit it'll stay, inside of these two things.” She poked his forehead, and then rested her hand over his chest. “Our memories and our own hearts.

And just because we can't be near and together, doesn’t make you out to be someone bad. You have smarts. You have strength. And sure, it might seem you won't find friends at Hogwarts either. But that's not true. Be it days or months, you'll find yourself someone, if not a lot of kids who’d want to be your friend. ‘Cause you have a rarity, something not many other kids in the world.”

He let all of what she firmly said sink in. As a result, some distressed layers were peeled away. “Rarity?” “What do you mean?”

She let her imperfect teeth be seen by widening her smile. Then she chuckled and booped his nose. “That's something you'll have to learn about on your own.”

His lips formed a faint smirk. “Like cooking…right?”

“Yes, among lots of other things you’re going to learn at Hogwarts. Like spells, history, and how to make potions.” He tensed up, but she provided his sleeve with a touch of reassurance. “Hey now, remember all that I’ve told you here.”

"I- I…will remember, Mum.”

“Good.” She pinched his cheek, getting his face to somewhat scrunch up in embarrassment. “Now unless you want to say anything else to me, I think Madeline wants to speak.”

After his mother stood up, the girl with olives didn't hesitate. She ran and gave her brother a tackling hug. He kept his balance, wrapping his arms around her. They stayed in that precious embrace for a few moments, before she broke it off. “I’m going to miss you.” She hugged Griff the lion against her chest, and smiled. “And I’m going to do my best at home, and at school, for you Jeremy.”

Their mother snorted and chuckled. “Now where have I heard that before?”

“Mummy!” Her hair was ruffled. She tried to look upset, but she couldn’t fight back a giggle.

Jeremiah pulled his trunk, and the caged Adams out of the trolley. “I'll write as- as soon as I- I can, after getting to Hogwarts. I- I love you both.”

“We know.”

As Caroline wrapped one arm around Madeline’s shoulder, Jeremiah nodded to them both. With a gulp, he forced himself to turn his back towards them. With his nerves rattled, he walked several struggling steps to the train. When he reached the threshold of being inches away from the stairs, he casted one look back. One temporary, last look of longing for those he’d known for all of his life.

Then with stagger-recovering legs, he boarded the Hogwarts Express.


	4. Boy of Drow

Lone blinking bulb. Walls of stainless gray. Faucet filled to the brim. A mildly dirtied, finger touched puddle. 

With a single poke, those miniature waves form. Those liquid cracks spread. Those otherwise known as ripples fade. Then with the second dipping of a fingertip, they’re spawned once more. All while being watched by twin irises of ocean depths.

After a third played out, the head rose. A curtain blend of rust fell upon the face. Counterparts of the wetted digit pushed some aside. One Blue was allowed to see without restriction. It tracked the motions of the wetted digit. Then once the final crumbs of slumber were wiped, the collective strands were dropped. The Blue rejoined it’s other, peering through hair equivalents of bars.

The bulb above ceased it’s flickering. The whistle of the train bellowed. The wheels way beneath the floor underneath shifted. The mitigated outside voices raised. Then there was a deep, delayed breath.

After draining the faucet of water, the other owner of those Blues left the lavatory. His shoulder collided with one of a waiting girl. He ignored a shout of: “Hey!”. He avoided the attempt of a grab. He pressed on with a brisk pace.

Advancing toward the back-end of the train car, he tried to not stay long in the view of windows. Along the way, he passed by many kids. Some were hogging, gazing out of the bright-touch windows showing the platform. Others had found themselves occupying a compartment. Then there was the four- five coming from the opposite direction, still searching for available seats. One actually was to focused on eyeing the compartments, that he bumped into the owner of Blues. He didn’t raise his rather downcast head, or apologized before continuing on his way.

The whistle blew once more. The train officially began to move. The children looking out to the platform waved, and said their farewells. The pair of prefects, those that wore the badges, started approaching and ‘advising’ the 11 year olds to find available compartments. One of the two was about to do the same for him. He sneered, went around the red-haired boy of prestige, and headed straight inside the second-to-last compartment.

After shutting the door, he retook his previous seat. He sighed, leaning his head back as far as possible. The bridge of his nose was given a pinch and flick. Then he bothered to shift his Blues onto his acquaintance.

She was still laying there, taking up all three seats on that side. Her face was now facing away, hidden. Her blonde, neck-length hair was even more untidy. One pale digit was further entwined in a few curls. Her once hand-held copy of The Daily Prophet, was serving as a poor pillow. And her snores had gained a semblance of volume.

If any of her housemates were to see her now, she’d be seen as even more of a disgrace.

He snorted, turning his gaze away. With the majority of his will, he tried not to mind her loud snoozing. He shoved a hand into one of his robe’s pockets. He twisted it about, eventually feeling nothing more it’s inner cloth. His lips pursed, before searching through the rest of his pockets.

Upon feeling the thickness of it’s cover, he shut his Blues in tempered relief. For a moment, the thought that someone had nicked it crossed his mind. Of course, if that were the case, he would’ve only had a handful of culprits to suspect. And he knows that his lazy acquaintance wouldn’t have been one.

After sparing the door a glance, he brought his possession out. What had once been a pale blue cover, was dominated by violet vines and green-grass rocks. The original page limit set between one-hundred and two-hundred, had been reduced to somewhere in the eighties or nineties. The majority of the remaining pages were still neat, still unused. The minority were wrinkled, containing scribbles of numbers detailing equations of multiplication, and estimated periods of time.

Then there was the one, corner-folded page. Two faint crescent markings reside in separate, top corners. Set in the middle is multiple, crossing lines. And just below them was a single, ink-thick word.

The sliding of the door nearly made him jump. “Anything from the trolley dearies?” And if he didn’t know better, he would’ve armed himself with his wand and hexed the trolley lady.

His Blues flickered over to his acquaintance. He resisted the urge to grown. She was still deep asleep. But the trolley was here. And from two previous experiences, she always ordered something from the trolley.

So he decide to give a try at waking her: “Wake up!” And unsurprisingly, the yell had no effect.

He immediately accepted the simple failure and eyed the trolley lady. He gave her his order via a slip of paper, produced from his robe. He revived three chocolate frogs, three Bertie Botts bean bags, and one pumpkin pastry. In turn he paid the correct amount of knuts.

Once the trolley lady left, and no one was near their compartment door, he sighed. Then he let out his impeding groan. And with little care for consequence, he threw one of the bean bags at his acquaintance.

She barely stirred.

Following a shaking of his head, he tended to the bought sweets. He brought out a set of napkins(also from the same sleeve), and wrapped them all around the pasty. After hiding it away within his robe, he opened up the three chocolate frog packages. The frogs themselves were set aside, for he valued the cards they contained much more over chocolate. The second bag of Bertie Botts’ beans was swiftly open. He popped two into his mouth, and finally returned Blues to the folded-page. He had hoped to get some work done-

But then there was shouting. It came from another compartment. Not long after it was there a rush of feet. Then a rush of loud voices.

He shut his book. He put it back from whence it came. He ignored his still slumbering acquaintance. And somewhat like the many of the commotion-making mob, he got up and walked out to find the source.

He had to pinch himself at the sight. Outside of the train, there was a car. A blue sedan, flying some feet above and away. One of it’s car doors was wide open. And hanging off of it by the inner handle, was known other that the Boy-Who-Lived.

“That's Harry Potter!”

“When did he get a flying car?”

“Is he going to fall!?”

“Someone- Anyone! Open up the windows!”

“What in Merlin's name will doing that accomplish Malcom?!”

“It’s better than just standing around and gawking!”

All of those voices and more, they nearly brought about a headache. But he endured them. He wanted to witness how the slayer of ‘He-who-must-not-be-named’, could get out of this precarious situation. So he stared as the driver of the car, Ron Weasley, was trying to reach out and grab a hold of Potter’s free hand.

However there was an outburst. “ Are you bloody mad Colin?! You’re takin’ freakin’ PICTURES NOW?!”

His Blues couldn’t stop themselves from looking away, being drawn to find who said that. It was a boy with honey-like hair. He was standing, fuming next to a camera-holding boy.

“Of course I am! It's-” The camera boy didn’t get to finish. The honey-haired boy threw his hands around the camera. “Hey- Hey! Let go! Let go of Jeremy!”

“Stop takin’ photos of him DANGLIN’!”

“NO!”

The two boys both pulled at the camera straps, going back and forth like tug-of-war. Their scrabble drew the attention of a few others. Three girls standing over at different windows to their left, backed away as their fight started to evolve. And one terribly familiar teen boy, was literally pushing by people in order to stop the conflict.

He got there in a matter of seconds, rightfully separated the two before any damage could be done. “Sta- Stop this fighting now! We have to-”

“Look! That redhead kid is helping Harry Potter!”

His Blues quickly rejoined the spectating. With a great difficult pull, Weasley managed to bring Potter back into the car. And as the wide-open door was shut, the sedan ascended out of sight.

“Everyone! May you all please calm down, and return to your seats!” A Hufflepuff prefect shouted from the opposite end of down hall. “That...spectacle, is done- it’s over. And we still have a long while to go before we reach Hogwarts! I repeat, may you all calm down and return to your seats!”

Everyone but himself, that interfering teen, and those tug-zig-war boys obeyed the order. The teen, also another Hufflepuff, was looking from the two boys. He was probably attempting to work his brain cells, trying to figure out why they were fighting. As for the boys themselves- well, he could only see one of-

His breathing came to an abrupt halt. The curling of his fingers ceased. He couldn’t- he must be seeing an illusion. An old, intriguing, incredibly deceiving illusion. That had to he to be what he was seeing, right?

“-you not hear me? Hello- Wait!“

He hurried back into his compartment. He fiercely shut the door. He ignored that prefect. He rightly sat down. Then he inhaled another batch of air.

For the second time in his life, he found them without the use of a reflection. Belonging to someone else. Serving as another boy’s sight. Having only a faint chance- existing in only a daydream- an almost impossible-

Almost. That’s it. ‘Twas almost impossible. They weren’t no illusion. They’re on this Hogwarts Express. He had saw them once again!

Instantaneously he whipped his book back out. At the speed of a whirlwind, he flipped through it’s pages. It came to stop when the folded page was reached. He slapped at, and pressed down on the right half. His gaze might as well have beamed at the only, written word. 

What was once a forever-abandoned hope, was revived in the form of smirking chapped lips.


	5. Night arrival of newcomers

“Alright, alright. Let’s see if I understand this correctly.” After a single clap, the older kid pointed at the mosey-haired boy. “You- Colin right? You were the first to see, and shout about that flying car.You were also the first to run out, and spot it out on the other side of the train. Then, while most of everyone were gawking, you thought it was best to take pictures. Pictures, of Harry Potter dangling and holding onto a car door for dear life.”

As the mosey-haired boy looked down, the teen turned. Twin sapphires met and locked on to those ocean-Blues. “And you- You saw what Colin was doing. It made you angry. So you tried to stop him. And that lead to you both nearly tearing a pretty, nice-looking camera apart.”

He paced over to window. He stared out of it. His left shoe tapped away as he thought and thought. Then after a short while he faced the boys, sitting across from each other.

“I have to say Colin, you weren’t on the right side of thinking.” 

“But-”

“-But you both were still in the wrong.” The elder kid’s face scrunched up. But then it quickly returned to a neutral state. “Colin, taking pictures when someone’s in danger is no great thing to do. In fact, you should be trying to help- if you’re able. If not, then find and alert an adult or prefect. And like that example, there’s...better ways to handle crazy situations than yelling, and lashing out.” He gave each boy a hard look. “Do you guys understand?”

After he flinched, Jeremiah looked to Colin. The mosey-haired boy was frowning. But no anger was held in his walnut-browns. “I...understand.” After nodding at Colin, the older kid shifted his gaze to Jeremiah.

“Ye-...Yeah.” He jerked, feeling those blocks really trying to stop him from talking. “I-I understand, too.” But he managed to work through them. “An- And I’m sorry, Colin.”

“Same here, Jeremy.”

“Good!” With another slapping of hands, the older kid plopped down onto the seat next to Jeremiah. “Actually no- That’s extra good! I mean, great. Holding grudges over small fights and of the like, is something neither of you want to do. Grudges make you snappy. They make you feel and be angry every minute, of every hour, of every day.”

“Yeah, a friend of my dad’s used to be like that. Something happened between him and one of his friends, and he became pretty scary after it. He also started distancing himself, from my dad and everyone else he knew.” Colin said.

“He got better though, right?”

“My dad said that he’s recently been feeling better. But he hasn’t come by our house in a while.” The camera boy shrugged. “I don’t know what to make of that. He liked seeing my pictures from time to time. And I liked that he liked my pictures”

“Huh. Well, here’s hoping that he’s dropped his grudge.” The elder kid smirked. But then it went away as fast as it came. “Crap- I don’t think I introduced myself yet, did I?” At seeing the two boy shake their heads, he let out an uneasy chuckle. “Yeah, I should’ve done that first and foremost.”

He cleared his throat and held his hand out. “Malcom Preece, 4th year, and one of the three chasers for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.”

Colin’s eyes lit up as he hurriedly shook his hand. “I’m Colin Creevey! I heard about Quidditch, but haven’t gotten to watch a game yet. I hope I get to, though! My dad’s been as interested about as me. And he’d like to see some photos of it. Along with photos of Hogwarts, the classrooms, the school grounds, and especially Harry Potter-”

“Whoa there Colin! Give yourself a moment to breath.” As Colin did just that, Malcom addressed the other boy. “How about you? What’s your name, mate?”

“Jer- Jeremiah Salvatore Dawner.” He shifted uncomfortably, and resisted the lumps that threaten to close up his throat. “But I-...I kind-of like being called by Jeremy.”

“Ok, Jeremy it is then!” He scooted over and rested his back against the wall. “I hope you lads don’t mind having me as extra company. I was going to return to my friends, but I’d figured I’d stay. And I’d like to get to know you two.”

“Sure!” Colin spoke for them both. “And I’d like to know a lot about Quidditch! Like, how many players belong to one team?”

“Well to start off: there’s three chasers-”

Jeremiah’s mouth quietly shut. The weight and spread of the blocks closed off his words. So he resorted to being a mere watcher. His Blues looked back and forth between the interested 4th year, and the chipper Colin Creevey.

He had been alone in the compartment when Colin appeared. The camera boy had poked his head in. His walnut-browns were searching, looking for someone. That someone turned out to be the famous Harry Potter. And since Colin hadn’t found Potter in the compartment, Jeremiah thought that he’d just say hello and maybe ask for help, before eventually leaving.

After he did ask, and got Jeremiah to help with his luggage, Colin had sat down and mostly stayed stuck in is current spot. Which was very strange. Like Madeline, Colin was very cheerful. With that ‘very cheerful’-ness, came a sense of bounciness- hyper-ness. Somewhat similar to a cartoon hamster, or squirrel that’s drank too much coffee. And while that wasn’t a bad thing to Jeremiah, he really needed to interrupt Colin more than once. He didn’t want the first-kid-he-met’s face turning blue.

Jeremiah dropped his head, eyeing the fingertips that were tapping together. The pot was rubbling again. But this time, it wasn’t rubbling in a bad way. It wasn’t rubbling in a good way, either. It was just...there-

He could see it. A single bag, as well as unopened small packages and wrappings. They’re the candies from the trolley. They’re sitting right next to him. They were ignored, forgotten about after the flying car appeared.

His hands separated. They lowered until they met his sides. A clenching-tempting finger went down. His teeth slid and pressed against his bottom lip. He didn’t know if he should be-

“You okay mate?”

He whirled about at a touch meeting his shoulder. “Would you like some Ber- Bertie Botts’ beans?” And he nearly ripped the bag as a result.

It was so strange. For a moment, Jeremiah thought he saw a familiar look. A familiar look that only his mother, and sometimes his sister would have. A familiar look that Malcom seemed to show.

“...Sure. I’ll take one bean at least.” Whether he had it or not, a smile formed as Malcom reached into the offered bag. He plucked a bean out. He flicked it into his mouth. But then in the next few seconds, he blanched. “Ugh, barf.”

“Barf?”

“Yeah Colin, they’re called ‘Bertie Botts’ Every Flavored Beans’ for a reason.”

Somehow, Jeremiah chuckled alongside Colin at that. “Wa- Would you like to have another? Or maybe something else to snack on?”

“Something else- you don’t have to-”

“Ye- You chose to help us sort out our problem. You deserve something...not barf-like.”

Malcom’s brows rose. His mouth slightly parted. He didn’t say a word. And for a few moments he just stared.

But then his smirk returned. “...You got any chocolate frogs?” And it spread into a grin when Jeremiah handed a frog over.

* * *

After hours of riding, night rose in the place of day. The train pulled into a one-sided station, lit up by several lamps. As most of the other kids left the automatically left train, Malcom decided to help out Colin and Jeremiah a bit. He kindly explained how they didn’t need to get their luggage, as someone else was going to bring them to Hogwarts. Then once their feet were on the ground, Malcom pointed towards an approaching giant of a man. He was holding a lantern, calling out for first years to follow him.

“There’s Hagrid right there. He’ll lead you right to the castle.”

“But- Why? You still haven’t told us why we can’t just follow you.”

“And I already told you that I can’t. It’s a secret, kind-of not-so-secret, secret.”

“But-”

“There’s no need to worry mate. We’ll see each other again.”

“Yeah!” Colin gave his shoulder a nudge. “Listen to him Jeremy.”

Even though he was still very confused, Jeremiah relented with a nod. “O- Ok.” 

After he and Colin waved goodbye to Malcom, they both followed after the rest of the first years. With Hagrid(Jeremiah thought he’d look a bit familiar, he was the giant man from Diagon Alley!) leading their group, they proceeded to descend quite a number of stairs. Once they reached the bottom, they passed by a few, large and shadowy bushes. Then after moving around what Hagrid described as a ‘bend’, their group arrived at a coast connected to a large black lake. And residing across it, on top of a mountainous cliff, was the majestic castle: Hogwarts

Jeremiah couldn’t give a voice to his amazement.

“No more’n four to a boat!” Jeremiah and Colin stuck together, nearly stumbling onto a boat. They were quickly joined by two others, a boy and a girl. When every boat was filled, Hagrid shouted: “Forward!” And then they all began to move.

Turning to their company, Jeremiah looked them both up and down. The girl had brushed, feather-like hair, not at all covering her pair of hazel irises. They were made to stare at Hogwarts. The boy meanwhile, had loose bangs that attributed to hiding most of his face. His head was tilted up only for a moment, before it was lowered. And compared to Colin’s excitement and chattering nature, them being tight-lipped and having stone-emotion faces, made them out to be more than just weird.

Jeremiah thought about introducing himself, saying something. However, the rubbling inside him returned. It was the bad sort. The kind that he thought would stay away, after meeting and talking to Malcom. But as it was happening now, he adverted his Blues and sighed.

It wasn’t long before the boats entered a cave, and met the shore made of mostly pebbles. After getting out of the boats, they all continued following Hagrid. He led them up another set of stairs, across a winded path, and to two large oak doors. His three knocks upon it were loud enough to silence any chatter. Then they waited until the doors creaked opened, and a witch with a deeply-stern expression walked out.

She, who Hagrid called Professor McGonagall, said nothing more than one sentence to each other. Then as Hagrid stepped aside, she addressed the group. “Follow me.”

Beyond those opening doors lied the entrance hall. The floor was built out of marble stone. Bright torches lined the walls. Three, more humongous doorways were present. Two separately lead off to the left and right, with the left being the one having closed doors. And the third, being at the end of the hall, had a couple of steps leading up into it.

The group was brought through the rightward doorway. They were gathered into the empty chamber inside. Her piercing gaze wandered, meeting every pair of eyes. She welcomed them. She spoke of the the Hogwarts houses, the banquet and Sorting ceremony that were going to start soon. Then with a request to wait, she left the chamber.

Jeremiah finally exhaled and let out a few coughs. “You ok Jeremy?” 

“Ye- Yeah Colin.” He told him, rubbing at his throat. “I- It’s just nerves, just nerves.”

While Colin nodded and then introduced himself to the kid on his left, Jeremiah became quiet. From somewhere within, a tightness grabbed at him. A tightness followed by another surge of rubbing. Trembles crawled from the top of his head, to the tips of his shoes. Bad thoughts popped and popped up in his mind. He didn’t want to think them, didn’t want to believe them, didn’t want to-

“Soon-to-be students-”Jeremiah snapped out of it. Professor McGonagall has returned. “-form a line, and follow me.”

Right as the last kid trudged into the line, they proceeded to walk back into the hall. The huge doors ahead opened on their own. The room behind them was revealed. 

Magnificently massive in height and size. Given light by both candle and torch fire. Five long lengthened tables sat inside. Four contained all of the other, elder kids, already donning their school uniforms. The fifth was at the far end, slightly elevated, and had all of the assumed teachers occupying it. And there was a lack of a ceiling, allowing the starry sky to be seen above them.

Professor McGonagall came to a halt. Peeking over Colin’s shoulder, Jeremiah saw that there was stool before her. No- there wasn’t just a stool there. Sitting upon it was an old, matted wizard hat. And everyone stared at it, waiting minutes for something to happen-

The hat shook. It’s pointed tip gradually swung up. The three, most prominent rips in the front widened. They took on the empty forms of a mouth, and eye-sockets. And as if it was a normal household object, Professor McGonagall picked it up with somewhat of a frown.

She unrolled a long piece of parchment. “When I call your name, you will sit here and have the hat be placed upon your head. It will sort you into your house.” Then with her voice booming, it began. “Acker, Kelvin.”

The shaggy-haired boy at the front of the line clapped. He eagerly made his way onto the stool. His palms patted away against his knees. The hat was lowered-

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

It’s shout brought about a round of multiple sounds. Cheers emerged from the table directly to the right. Many of the teachers kindly clapped. One of them, a squatter- no, a roundish(?) witch with curly grey hair, looked quite proud. And Kelvin Acker, with springing motions occupying his steps, laughed aloud as he headed over to the rightward table.

As more names were called out, Jeremiah’s nerves were rattling beyond a intense extent. The tightness was growing stronger. The rubbling pot entered into it’s second-worse state. His feet didn’t want to move every moment the line got shorter. More awful thoughts, the awful words spoken earlier during the afternoon, they went ‘round and ‘round. 

“Creevey, Colin.”

Although he was suffering difficulties, Jeremiah spared Colin a shaky-encouraging smile. Colin nodded in turn before approaching the stool. As he sat, the hat was placed down. And for a minute it seemed like Colin was whispering, as if he was having a chat with someone.

Then there was the shout: “GRIFFENDOR!”

Absolute roars. Banging fists and clapping hands. The far leftward table not only approve- they were ecstatic. Just like how Colin was- is. He hurried on over, joining those seated beneath banners of red and gold.

“Dawner, Jeremiah.”

The boy with ocean-Blues felt cold. Not only cold but hot. Cold and hot, terribly blended together in numerous places. In his now knotted insides. In his negative-swarmed mind. In his left and right twisting, step taking feet.

He fought back against making any sound as he sat. He winced, feeling the old material of the hat touch his head. And just as his Blues began to rapidly blink, he heard a voice.

‘A third generation Dawner, hm? I must admit I’m mildly surprised. I suspected that your mother wouldn’t find herself a partner, due to your grandfather’s lackluster reputation.’

Be it due to some miracle or in some way, his will, Jeremiah found himself able to communicate. ‘Ye- You knew them?’

‘Of course, as they both came here before you. They sat upon the stool, and allowed me to put them where they belonged. Although Gregor, that grandfather of yours, did foolish try to argue against I. ‘I know where I belong! I am the most wise, the most courageous!’ Pah!’

A grumble echoed throughout Jeremiah’s mind.

‘However you, you’re quite unlike him. You have bravery, but it is chained. You have intellect, but it is limited. Not one to scheme. Not one to plan, not yet. Yes, I know just where to put you.’

‘Ba- But I can’t possibly belong-’

‘And that is where you’re wrong.’

‘How?’

‘Your rarity. It shows that you only have one path to follow!’

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

The now revived, once again thriving cheers, did more than simply reach his ears. They shocked him to his core. They’re presence was bizarre, unnatural. Just like the various pairs of eyes that kindly looked upon him. Just like the few hands waving, beckoning him to come over.

He rose from the stool. Knee-weakened legs moved- caused him to stagger towards the table. Handsfitted in sleeves of uniforms carrying strips, and stripes of yellow and black, shot out to shake one of his twitching own. Malcom- Malcom called him over! He repeatedly pointed at an open seat, opened up by two other Hufflepuffs moving aside. Then when Jeremiah took said seat, Malcom gave him a unexpected high five.

“I knew that you’d become one of us!”

His disbelief, awe- feeling both nice and unkind swelled inside him. They paved way for him to smile. They brought about moisture within his Blues. They made his hands fidget, and not want to rest on the table.

“Durand, Albert!”

“Hey mate-” He met Malcom’s sapphires. “Let’s watch and see who else we get, eh?” He managed to flick a thumb up, before turning about in his seat.

Three minutes passed until the hat announced: “HUFFLEPUFF!” And while everyone there cheered, Jeremiah clapped as Albert Durand approached and joined the table.

“Endicott, Phoebe.” The girl from the boat stepped up with a sense of eloquence. The hat was on her head for nearly a minute. “RAVENCLAW!” Clapping and some whistling welcomed her to the table across the hall. It was to the right of the Gryffindor’s, and set underneath banners of blue and bronze. 

More and more names were read. The houses of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw revived most of the newcomers. Hufflepuff got two girls. Then there was a boy, whose name Jeremiah could only make out as ‘Harper’.

“SLYTHERIN!”

There was no roars. There was no cheers. There wasn’t no altogether applause. There was only a few, wearing the colors of green and silver, that welcomed Harper by bringing their hands together. And when he found himself a free spot, the clapping instantly faded.

From there, the number of new Slytherins expanded. Behind them were Hufflepuff, getting two other boys known as Wilfred Hollins, and Alden Lewin. Then there was the Ravenclaws, with Jeremiah only picking up the surname of Prescott. 

The line of first years greatly thinned. Now there was only one girl left to be sorted. She was incredibly familiar to Jeremiah. He met her some days ago. And as he had felt weird electricity then, he felt it now when her browns found his Blues.

“Weasley, Ginevra!”

He fingers clenched as she looked away. He watched with bated breath as she approached the stool. Then as the hat was placed onto her head, he had a wish. A wish for Ginerva- for Ginny to join Hufflepuff. He didn’t know why he had it. He just did, and was really hoping it would be granted.

“GRYFFINDOR!”

Disappointment like he never felt before, washed over him at the same time. He tried to fight away with a polite smile. The one he wore however, was weak while the reception Ginny received was strong. Two older, identical-looking Gryffindors actually jumped up, and let out loud ‘Woos’. And if he wasn’t mistaken, that act caused Ginny to blush.

Reluctantly Jeremiah turned away, not knowing how to handle that turn of events.


	6. Disbelief and distress

One blink, two blinks, three. Strangely, Jeremiah seemed to have waken up from a dream. He didn’t usually have dreams. Especially not ones that were mostly rememberable. Especially not ones that felt like they were real.

After rubbing at his eyes, Jeremiah attempted to look around at his room. However he encountered problems. The bed was surrounded by curtains, there weren’t there last night. The blankets laying over him were supposed to be much more thicker, more fluffy. And the bed itself- he swore that the bed was slightly bigger.

He pulled the curtains aside. A few copper-tinted lamp were dimly-lit. It allowed him to see that were other beds. Their number is four, and they’re all pressed against different corners of a circular room. A circular and alarmingly unfamiliar space that contained: two high-positioned and round windows, a door looking like a wooden shield, hanging posters of badgers and simple pan- no, they’re bed-warmers.

After pinching, and finding himself to still be here, Jeremiah steadily got out of bed. He first thought was to tiptoe over to one of the other beds, in order to check and see who might be sleeping. A continuous series of snores however, as well as a fear of bad consequences to waking a stranger, made him decide against it. Instead he settled on heading for the door.

On the other side there’s multiple hallways. There is eight in total. Seven are like the one Jeremiah is standing in, their paths are paved akin to hook-angled brunches. While the eighth was straight, narrow, and lead to a more smaller door. More of the lamps occupied the walls, their level of light being dull.

Beyond the smaller door, was what could be easily described as a cost place. Ceiling is a bit low, with dishes containing lengthy foliage hang from it. Yellow cloths and potted plants reside on several lonesome shelves. Living-room chairs have squared pillows laying on their seats. Logs actively burn in a oval fireplace. A mantelpiece displaying carved badgers, is beneath the portrait of a plump woman- witch. She spotted a wide smile, wore a fine yellow dress, and held a sight-catching cup.

He immediately starting giving himself more punches, alongside multiple fast tappings. He had to have been still dreaming. He- He had to be. Everything that’s happened so far has been too bizar- no, it’s all been too nerve-wrecking. He’s- He’s supposed to be at home. At home, in the bathroom or the kitchen. He’s supposed to be preparing- supposed to be wearing an apron by now-

All movements of desperation stopped. His increasing rate of breath got cut. His Blues followed the gradual raising of his sleeves. His black robed, lesser-black and yellow stripped, sleeves. And then he fell back, landing on the cushion of a sofa.

Leaving on the train. Meeting Colin and Malcom. Witnessing a flying car. Sailing across a great black lake. The Sorting of those first years and him. It was all not of his fantasy. He was here, inside of Hogwarts and the Hufflepuff common room.

As one hand went through searching his pockets, the other was placed over his forehead. His Blues stared into the crackling flames. A stiffness spread throughout his body. His voice was trapped behind it’s natural, ever more strong barriers.

Be it minutes or hours, he didn’t know how long he sat there for. His brain was being swarmed. Swarmed by many words, phrases, a flux of stress. And he didn’t know how to take, how to express any of it.

“Are you alright?.”

Fingers grasping his wand broke away. Both arms rose up as fast as lightning strikes. Fists formed as Blues swerved, looking for whoever spoke.

There’s a strange, wonderful pair of colors. Browns are enriched, dominated by the pigment of dandelions. They show curiosity, and have the presence of an unusual familiarity. They belong, along with shoulder-length amber hair, to a girl standing near a second door. He didn’t recognize them, but he definitely recognized her from the previous night.

He slowly lowered his arms. His fingers wrapped around each other. His legs grew tense. He swallowed down a pressuring, pressuring, pressuring lump. “Ha- Hi. I- I’m...not alright.” And he was now on the brink of kicking himself. 

His fingers tightened as she walked over. His Blues wanted, but didn’t enact on looking away as she reached the sofa. And he jerked slightly when she sat down. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Ne- No, no.” 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure if he should. Wasn’t sure if he could. Wasn’t even sure if it was...right to do.

The frown she developed was undone. Her dandelion-browns softened. She seemed to recognize...something. Something on or about his face, maybe.

“...Your name is Jeremiah, right?” 

“Yeah, but I- I like to go by Jeremy.”

“Jeremy?” As she tilted her head, her lips corners went up. “I like it.” Then she gestured to herself. “I’m Susan, Susan Bones.”

While he doesn’t exactly remember, he thinks that she did introduce herself. She was one of two Hufflepuffs who scooted over, creating a seat for him. It would’ve been weird if she hadn’t said her name.

Nevertheless, he attempted to keep his voice steady. “I-I like your name - your first name, too.” And once again wanted to kick either one of his legs. “It- It’s nice to meet you, Susan.”

“Same here Jeremy.”

Just then, the doorway right of the fireplace opened. Malcom and another Hufflepuff emerged. They were looking very pleased and devious. And when the door shut, the unnamed Hufflepuff burst out laughing while Malcom tried, and barely succeeded in reigning his own.

“I can’t believe we just did that!”

“We?” Malcom jokingly butted his shoulder. “You’re the one who set the box down!”

“Oh please Preecy! You could’ve stopped me at any moment.” The unnamed Hufflepuff snorted and wheezed. “Besides, it was your idea.”

“Sure, sure.” As he turned away from his probable friend, Malcom’s gaze found Jeremiah and Susan. “Oh hey Jeremy, Susan!”

“‘Ello first year, second year!”

“They have names McManus.”

“But they’re still a first year and second year, ya?”

“Whatever.” Although Malcom sighed, his smile stayed intact. “Anyways, I didn’t think you were an early raiser-” But then after getting another look at Jeremiah, that smile instantly faded and he paced over. “What’s wrong mate?”

Susan stood up. “I think it might be best if we head out, now.”

“What do you-” Susan approached Malcom, and whispered some words into his ear. “Ah.” He gave a glance to McManus, who flopped himself down onto one of the other sofas, before nodding. “Sure. I was just about to step out too.”

“You serious?” McManus asked.

“Yeah.”

“But don’t you wanna stay and listen-”

“Another time.” 

McManus frowned, but waved a dismissive hand about. “Fine, leave me to his fury why don’tcha?”

“You’re free to come along you know.” McManus gave no reply, deciding to throw his arms back and shut his eyes.

“Way- Wait a minute.” Jeremiah spoke up. “I thought we ha- had a curfew?”

“There is, but I got a glimpse of the time. We won’t get in trouble.” With that being said, Malcom lead the two younger kids to the common-room’s entrance.

Jeremiah had expected the entrance be a password-protected door. Kinda-of like his own bedroom door, aside from him being the one who ultimately opens it. To an extent, that was what the entrance was. However the door wasn’t normally tall. It didn’t simply lead to the other side. It lead to a rather short-length crawl space. And the password didn’t need to be said, it had to be played. Played, as in rhythmically tapped using a certain pair of front-guarding barrels.

Jeremiah regarded the entrance as somewhat bothersome. It was subject to change. Especially since he had to crawl behind two others now. And that wasn’t fun nor comfortable to do.

After he crawled out onto the other side, Malcom helped him to his feet. Then he threw out the question: “Why were you trembling as if you were freezing, Jeremy?” Susan him sent a pointed look, but he ignored it in favor of staring at Jeremiah.

“I...” His thumbs begun thwacking and wrestling each other. “I-I was- I don’t really- I’m not good with um...”

Susan took a step towards him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

“You should Jeremy.” Malcolm gave his shoulder a few hard pats.

“It-” Jeremiah gulps. “It’s ah- a problem I have-”

“What is?”

“Malcolm-”

“No. If a housemate or classmate has a problem, they have to talk. Keeping it in won't do ‘em any good.”

“Same thing with trying to force it out of him.”

“But-”

“Ca- Can we go to the Great Hall?” Malcolm’s and Susan’s quick turning gases made him wince. “I'm on- honestly hungry.”

“Not before-”

“Let’s leave it be, for now.”

The fourth year Hufflepuff chaser pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. But- Please don’t try to hold this ‘problem’ in. I’d like for you to have a good first day, Jeremy.”

While Malcolm went ahead, Jeremiah and Susan stayed back. His Blues re-met her dandelion-browns again. “...Thank you. I'm…not really ga- good with-”

“You don’t have to say it.” She interrupted, her gaze and smile being kind. “I understand.” That phrase was as well, despite the striking of nerves that latter word caused.

“You...understand?”

She nodded. “Mhm-hmm.” But then she pointed after Malcom. “But right now we should be going.”

* * *

Upon entering the Great Hall, Jeremiah’s Blues glanced about. Some Ravenclaws and a few of the professors were present. The ceiling that had showed what looked like the night sky, now actually had stone-work in place. New goblets, silverware, and plates lined the tables. The mass of soon-to-be occupied space is just poking, and prodding at the pot.

Jeremiah sucked in a breath as he, and the two Hufflepuffs sat down. Their hands grabbed and filled their plates. His hands laid on either side of the one before him, clenching and unfolding. They lifted and took bites out of their selected, breakfast foods. He didn’t touch any toast, any beans- he touched nothing but the surface of the table. 

“Jeremy?”

“Didn’t you say you were hungry?”

Fingers hurry to grab the silverware. Fried tomatoes and toast are plucked from their groups. The fork is stabbed into one of the former. Then after hesitant moments pass, the imbedded culinary-vegetable is driven into the mouth. 

Every following chew brings about a positive taste, while making him feel wrong in heart and mind.

As Jeremiah reluctantly continued to eat, more students came pouring in. It wasn’t long before the most of the school arrived. With them came chatter, springing up throughout all four tables. Hearing so many voices go back and forth, made Jeremiah want to shut them all out. But like the previous night, he didn’t know how and relented to staying seated.

There was sudden sparks of laughter. Jeremiah confusingly looked up from his quarter-eaten dish. Malcom just covered his mouth, and directed him to the Great Hall doorway. One of the last arriving Hufflepuffs was standing there. White powder covered most of his furious face. And McManus was right behind him, trying to look like some saint.

The powder-covered face Hufflepuff stomped over. All of his angry was put into a glare. A glare aimed right at the back of Malcom’s head.

“How’d your first night back go Rickett?” Malcom cheerfully asked. Doing so earned himself a smack.

“Piss off Preece.”

Malcom couldn’t keep the act up. He wheezed, slapping his palm down again and again on the table. Meanwhile Rickett’s fury didn’t lessen. However when another Hufflepuff tugged his sleeve, he let out a huff and headed to his seat.

The blonde girl with pigtails who sat on the other side of Susan, Hannah Abbott(Jeremiah believes that’s her name), sent her own glare Malcom’s way. “Did you really have to-”

“Oh don’t even start with that!” Malcom cut off. “You have to admit: it’s a good, almost great start of the year for him.” 

“For him, maybe.” Justin Finch-Fletchley, Jeremiah’s left-seated neighbor, piped up. “But that’s not as incredible as what people are saying.”

Jeremiah tensed. He thought about asking Justin about what he’d meant. But instead, despite the pressure they all were causing, Jeremiah decided to try to listen. The three words of: car, boys, and willow, were being said over and over.

“De- Did something happen, with the flying car?”

“Yep.” Hannah threw a thumb over her shoulder. “No one knew why Harry Potter and his friend there, weren't here for the sorting or dinner. But recently someone spilled the beans: They flew the flying car into the Whomping Willow!”

He lost his grip on his fork. “They did?”

“Definitely. Especially since that friend's name is Ron Weasley. Being the brother of Fred and George, he had to have wanted the school year off with a bang.” Justin said.

“Fred an-and George?”

“The famous prankster Weasley twins.” Justin smirked. “Causers of lots of trouble and mischief. And I've long heard that they've played out at least one scheme per day, every since they were first years.”

Jeremiah bit his lip. “Do- do they…target anyone specific?”

“Not to my knowledge, no. But I bet that everyone gets one prank pulled on them.”

“Oh…” New and old knots tied together inside Jeremiah.

Having calmed down from his laughing spree, Malcom addressed the honey-haired boy. “There’s no need to worry mate. Fred and George are mostly harmless.”

Malcom’s attempt at calming didn’t work. “O-Ok...” Forcing down and letting nerves stir about his bones, Jeremiah bit his lip. Then he cautiously looked over his shoulder. “Um…what- what do they look like?”

“Just look for the two with the same flaming-red hair.”

They were easy to find after that. They were the two who embarrassed Ginny yesterday. And they were murmuring, carrying glints of deviousness in their matching dark-blue eyes.

Before they could look his way, his Blues shifted. He caught sight of a standing Colin, happily waving at him. He returned the gesture, although he kept his hand low. And then right as Colin turned around,there was a camera flash. Seated on the other side of the table was Harry Potter. Colin got what he wanted most of all: a picture of the Boy-who-lived.

“Incoming mail!”

At that yell from the far end of the Hufflepuff table, Jeremiah looked up and saw around a hundred of owls fly in. Packages, letters, and boxes were dropped. Some were caught by awaiting hands. Others had fell onto a few heads and open table spaces. One owl had actually crashed into a milk jug, and skidded to a halt in front of Ron Weasley.

“Wha- What made the owl-”

“Oh bugger.” Malcolm said, leaning back in his seat. “Seems like he got a howler.”

“A howler?” Jeremiah asked.

“The envelope gives it away.”

He squinted, and sure enough the envelope contained that danger-shade of red. “Oh no-” 

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

“And there it goes.”

The red envelope shot up, unleashing a roaring voice. It quickly formed into a mouth, made out of it and its concealed letter. All of the silverware laid on the Gryffindor table rattled. The uncovered eardrums of everyone sitting near, might as well have been throbbing and wrecking at each word. And Ron sunk so low that all of him but the top of his head, was now hiding underneath the table as if it could save him.

“-AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE, WE’LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT HOME!”

A short, worldly silence rung out throughout the Great hall. Before anyone could move a muscle, the howler tore itself up less worse than it did Ron. Then it swiftly burned into ashes.

Several other kids laughed. A few pointed at the severely embarrassed Weasley. And soon enough, another babble of talk broke out.

Jeremiah cautiously turned around, eyeing the five Hufflepuffs sitting nearest to him. "That was…”

“Do you think he’ll live?” The girl to Malcom’s right asked.

“Of course he will.” The girl to his left replied, twirling a bacon strip around. “I've had my share of howlers, and I'm still here aren't I?”

“Oh- please don't remind us Tamsin.” The rightward girl said, rubbing her face with her palm.

“Yeah.” Malcom agreed. “I don't want to recall every time I was around for them.”

“Why not? You should've gotten used to them.”

“Sure, but that doesn't make them likable.”

“I didn’t say that-”

“-Anyways, I hope that’s the only Howler that gets sent this year.” Malcom said, not paying any mind to his now-irritated neighbor.

“I hope so too…” Susan agreed, although her dandelion-browns were staring off towards the teacher’s table. Jeremiah followed her line of sight. He wished that he hadn’t.

When Headmaster Albus Dumbledore had formally, and loudly introduced the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, an explosion of applause erupted for him. Him, being that Gilderoy Lockheart. Him, responding with a smug look. Him, basking in all excitedly delivered praises and shouts. Him, acting like a damn Fame-man!

Jeremiah needed to take a stable breath then. He needed to take one now. Although Lockheart met the requirements to be a Fame-man, the honey-haired boy stopped himself from fully believing he was one. Yes, he greatly disliked the chapters he managed to read from one of Lockheart’s books. But so far he didn’t really know the man. Heck, he hasn’t even tried talking to him yet.

So for now, Jeremiah was going to try and not be too judgemental. He was going to try and reign his negative, certified feelings about Fame-men in. And maybe- just maybe, he might be proved wrong.

“Wow, you got it rough after Charms.”

“What?” As Jeremiah spun back around, Justin tilted his chin down. A schedule lay next to his unfinished breakfast. In fact, everyone had a schedule. Was he really so focused on Lockheart, that he hadn’t noticed their schedules being handed out?

After shaking away that thought, Jeremiah started giving his schedule a careful read. 

Charms 9AM-10AM

History of Magic 10:15AM-11:15AM

Lunch Period

He stopped reading and looked up. “Is the- there something wrong with History of Magic?”

“It’s Binns.”

“Binns?”

“Binns is the most boring, useless teacher here at Hogwarts. Everything he says makes everyone in the class want to fall asleep.” Justin explained.

“Ten points to you, Finch-Fletchey.” Tamsin nodded. “Besides, history itself is a waste of a subject.”

“It is not!”

Tamsin raised her eyebrows and snorted. “Really Macavoy? Nothing other the Wizarding Wars with Grindewald and You-Know-Who should be taught. Better yet, Binns should be sacked from the job!” She threw her hands up. “If these things happened, we would have a class to actually look forward to. And not some slop-fess waste of a hour.”

“But…”

"She’s right Heidi.” Malcolm dutifully said. “I mean, the most interesting thing anybody could get from the class, is that Professor Binns can float on through the blackboard.”

“Professor Binns is a Ghost?” Jeremiah asked wide-eyed, with his nerves effectively beating back a rush of excitement.

“Yep.”

“But you're in luck, you got Defense against the Dark Arts after lunch.” Justin remarked. “Same as us Second years.”

“Wait- Really?” Heidi- Macavoy asked.

“Really.” Justin showed the fourth year girl his schedule parchment. “See?”

“That can't be right though. First years and Second years are supposed to have separate classes.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Macavoy didn’t reply. Instead she looked to the amber-haired second year. “Hey, Susan!”

Turning her head away from the staff table, Susan revealed her now dreamingly-expressed face. “Yes?”

“What class do you have after lunch?”

As she leaned her cheek against a palm-pressed hand, she easily lifted her own schedule up with the other. Defense of the Dark Arts waslisted at on 12:30 spot, on the current Wednesday line.

“That- This has to be a mistake. Each student has different, year-level classes on different days. For two of them to be clumped together now is just-”

“Brilliant.” Justin interrupted “Lockheart's amazing, one of a kind wizard. He had to have come up with this. Our Professor last year was a stuttering, bumbling idiot you know.”

Macavoy shook her head, wiped her hands clean, and stood up. “I'm going to go check with the prefects, see if they know anything about this. If they don’t, then the teachers have to.” And with that said she went off.

Justin snorted. “She’s going to waste her time.”

“Too late to stop her now, though.” Malcom said.

While the others are casually continued eating, Jeremiah set his attention on Susan. She was staring at the staff table once again. Her sickly, pleasant sigh left her lips. That sound- her line of sight aiming Lockheart’s way, it was alarming and uncomfortable for him to notice.

He sucked in a breath. He counted down the five seconds as they ticked by. Then he pulled his attention back to his food. He didn’t need his own bad judgements to sour his morning. He had his other, first ever classes to look forward too. And from what he reread, he was going to be sharing at least one of them with the first year Gryffindors. Meaning that he was going to share a class with Colin.

“Ok, Ok.” He whispered, unfolding his white-knuckle turned hands. Today was going to be a fine, good first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! So far, I think this story been unfolding pretty well. It’s definitely a bit better in the grammar department, compared to the previous version. And as for usage of characters- well, I had some fun using some rarely known Hufflepuffs.
> 
> From this point onward, the future chapters may take some more time to post. The main reason being how most of the chapters you’ve read so far, have been rewritten(as in not created from scrap). So take note of that, if you will. And...that’s all I have to say(type), for now!


	7. He of No-Mistakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before your reading begins, I’d like to point out: I decided to do something somewhat special, to this chapter and another. I hope you all notice it here, and back there!

To many, one particular class can be seen as boring. If not boring, than as annoying. If not annoying, than as too-difficult. If not too-difficult, than as terrifying!

What a load of rubbish from a lot of imbeciles. Or as Professor Snape had first called them, in the beginning of first year: dunderheads.

Having the knowledge of creating various concoctions, prime examples being the ‘Antidote to Common Poisons’ and the ‘Fire Protection Potion’, is incredibly valuable. Enacting the precise methods on preparing, and adding ingredients, is satisfyingly difficult. Undergoing the stage of brewing, in which carried a evermore dire dangling sensation of finding success or failure, brings about a thrill. To the other owner of dual-oceans, Potions was a fantastic focus and skill-testing class. And if his year-level portion(otherwise known as his ‘housemates’)weren’t apart of the stupid, now easily distracted by hopes-of-the-DADA majority, Potions would be elevated into being something more.

Alas, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He’s been exposed to how stupid his year-level portion can be. Same thing with most members from the other houses. They’re incapable of adapting, of paying mind to written directions. Unlike him, and his still a bizarre sight-to-behold acquaintance. Because she is somehow more competent then their lot.

“Mr. Carmichael, I don’t recall turning powder into fecal sludge being apart of the steps. Ten points from Ravenclaw for utter stupidity.” Case in-point: Edward Carmichael, being fully awake with two open eyes, didn’t bother to read and added too many cups of Lorage. Meanwhile the tired acquaintance, with eyelids being half-closed, manage to study and follow the direction saying to only add 1.

Gritting his teeth behind hard, frustratedly sealed lips, he brought his Blues back to his current work. After adding in the single cup, he went about stirring the powders. Once smoke began to rise, water was poured. Than right as the natural liquid met the powders, the bland-hue of orange was formed.

Moments later, the footsteps of Professor Snape neared. Silence followed as he doubtlessly peered down at the completed potion. He was evaluating it’s condition by the color it processed. Usually him not saying a word for more than thirty seconds, meant that the result was acceptable.

“5 points to Ravenclaw. 15 points to Slytherin.” He said with a bit of a temper, before moving on. After adding and subtracting more house points for failings, as well as indignant sounds made when his back was turned, he headed back to his desk. “Quills down, essays now.” Then the two-thirds of the lot, those that ignored his last-year warning about plucking ingredients for this lesson, got up to hand in their 10-pages of punishment. “Class dismissed.”

The unleashed floodway of grumbles and profanity was terrible. More-so pathetic, because of how they only left the mouths of Ravenclaws. They were supposed to be intelligent, attentive- bloody logical with golden brains. This year-level batch had nothing of the sort. They were walking, talking, breathing insults of the house.

Thankfully, since Lunch period was now occurring, he didn’t need to stay near any of the lot. Ignoring the rumbles of his stomach, he headed in the direction of Hogwarts’ Turris Magnus. Every so often along the way, he hid away in curtained alcoves. He avoided a few wandering prefects, along with that clever(but not clever enough)Mrs. Norris and her keeper.

With little time wasted, he arrived at his destination within the Serpentine Corridors. He entered with ease. He whipped his wand out from his sleeve. Then as he traced the familiar, invisible mark of a question, he whispered: “Colloportus.” The door was locked.

Setting his school-bag down onto one desk, he sat upon another of the present few. His shoes were kicked off. Three books, one writing utensil and stick of muggle invention got pulled out. ‘Numerology and Grammatica’ and ‘The Standard Book of Spells’ were set down, next to each other. The third containing the vines and rocks, was put aside with the stick.

Those Blues scanned the contents of the books, containing dominant numbers and charms. They scanned the contents. They re-read word after word. While one set of fingers flipped through the pages, the other held remained wrapped around the writing utensil. Blue ink scribbled away, crossing out and creating fresh words against once-clean papers.

Once two pages were written up, the third book was brought over. It was sat beneath the other two. His Blues shifted from one book to the next. They checked if the differentiation in wording, but not in meaning, was clear for him to read.

The Blues came to a halt. A new, should’ve been old but still new thought, pinged in his brain. It made him tighten his both grips. It caused a glare to form. It was a simple detail, but a heavy oversight-

The containers of magical, academical knowledge were shut. They were pushed far enough to meet the desk’s edge. The third was pulled up in a rush. Then after a plain page was turned to, the utensil was swiftly pressed down.

Once what needed to be written, was, he got off of the desk. Two other, more useless and false-appearing fantasy volumes were brought out. One was placed on the ground. He backed away until he reached a lengthy distance. He thrusted his wand-arm forward.

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Left furiously-quiet lips.

It was as if a gust of hand became an invisible hand. The volume began to rise, to hover feet above the floor. In an instant it was made to fly up. It rolled over and over, as if being wrapped by invisible webs. It started to fall-

“Incendio!”

-And without incident, it landed flat against the stone floor.

There was a blink. A narrowed stare. The Blues then shifted. They reread the paragraphs of his writing. There was no mistake to be seen in it.

A second attempt was decided. He targeted the other volume, accounting of another tale. The Levitation charm worked, again. It was held up high above his height. It was released, with no flame bursting to stop it’s descend, again.

There couldn’t be a mistake being made. It was a high impossibility. The incantation is Incendio. He was saying it right. The hand-motion of a damn flame was fluid!

After giving this experiment of his many more tries, he gave the desk a kick. He hurried over to the tipped over volumes. He stomped once upon them both. He leaned forward and down. His head tilted until it appeared crooked. And he wanted his Blues, having gone wide, to propel the fire of his fury.

If there had to be a mistake, it concerned thoughts about those excuses of Ravens. At first his oversight concerning handwriting, merely brought them back to the fore-front of his mind. But then he saw- He gave much focus to that suspicious pair. That suspicious, irritation-spiking pair of face and name, displayed on those volumes. And that was if- IF there was a mistake being made.

After ripping out a page from one of the volumes, he shoved them both back into the bag. He set the paper onto the floor. He took one further step back. His Blues locked-onto it’s wrinkled state.

Like the numerous attempts, he tried to calm himself. He tried to clear his mind. He tried to reel in steady breaths. He tried not to strangle his wand as he pointed it.

“Wingardium-”

Scratching. There was scratching. It came from the other side of the door. It was joined by hiss, and then an aggressive meow.

The paper got snatched out of the air. It was driven into a pocket. The meowing grew louder. The personal book joined the others in his bag. It’s strap was slung over his shoulder. Yells- he could hear those distant yells of the cat’s keeper. The cap of the stick was undone. The sticky liquid it held was rubbed into bottoms of his shoes. The footsteps- shuffled footsteps were getting closer and closer-

He hopped onto a desk. He hurriedly casted: “Alohomora!”. And then he jumped.

The door creaked open. The grey, balding man with hitched-shoulders advanced into the room. His coat being brown and withered, whipped about at his quicken pace. And by his feet, was that cat with a somewhat smart brain, Mrs. Norris.

“In here, my sweet?” Filch, the blasted caretaker sneered.

Mrs. Norris responded by heading right on over to the...two academical books, still laid out open on the floor. She gave another hiss as Flich approached. He rotated, gradually revealing that horribly-aged face.

“Come on out!” Together, he and her stepped around the books. “There’s no where for you go.” Her dual lamp-like eyes, and his bulging pair of pale browns searched. “You aren’t going no where!” Then that cat- that cat had just turned her head up.

*Boom!*

“What?!” Filch spun around, abandoning the search in a heartbeat to check out the corridor. He yells out a string of words, with the most understandable one being ‘Gryffindors’. Soon enough running occurs, followed by loud laughs and some other nonsense. And it takes for Filch to be out of earshot, for the cat to finally go after her keeper.

From the high corner of the room, to the right of the door, the third year with Blues sighs. He goes to move his shoes off of the wall. When they don’t budge much, he gives them both a glance each. He almost removes both his hands from within them. But he stops himself, and instead uses one to work on prying the shoes off of the wall.

When he manages to do so he drops. He quickly gathers up and puts the two left-out books away. Then, being curious about what exactly transpired out in the corridor, he decides to risk taking a look. So he slowly creeps out until one eye peaks out. And he sees the door of Classroom 3C slam open.

Students baring stripes of red and yellow run out. Screaming, panicking, pushing each other either out of the way or forward. Many swift, helium voices flood out from inside. Inside from where the Defense Against the Dark Arts, bloody Lockheart’s class is. But that didn’t make sense, because Lunch period is supposed to still be in effect.

“Get away- Get away from me!” A first year boy barreled out, having a blue-winged creature slapping and flying around his head.

“Ha- HELP! SOMEONE!” Then there came a amber-haired second year, trying to smack two other blue- smack two other Pixies who were roughly pulling at her hair.

A small group made up of three Hufflepuffs, and one lone Gryffindor ran out. The one most familiar of the lot immediately threw a book. As it collided with one hair-holding Pixie, he hopped up and wrapped his hands around the other. The pesky creature rapidly flapped it’s arms and wings about, trying to cause it’s captor to either lose balance or his grip. As he put up good resistance, one of the other first-years attacked the slapping Pixie.

A chaos of shouts, more screams, and child wizards battling Pixies waged. It’s term wasn’t long, for the group managed to drive the Pixies back. “Hit ‘me- HIT ‘EM!” The honey-haired boy of the lot yelled. He, the offensive first year, and the black-haired Hufflepuff boy smacked the Pixies over and over. Then after the black-haired Hufflepuff deliver a final blow, the other three of their group shut the door in an instant.

All six of them took a breather. Half made themselves sit, while the other three used a part of wall as support. It took a short while before one of them spoke

“Wa- Wait.” The amber-haired girl hesitantly pressed an ear to the door. “Aren’t there still other students in there?”

“Harry Potter and his friends are in there!” The lone Gryffindor said.

“May- Maybe we should-”

“No.” The black-haired Hufflepuff rebutted the honey-haired one. “We’re not opening that door.”

“But they might-”

“We’re not letting those things out!”

The offensive first-year poked at the door. “Yeah- I’m not going to go through a round two.” He stated, puffing at a few strands of his shaggy hair. “Let the Boy-who-killed-a-Dark-Lord, handle it.”

“I- I don’t think-”

“They’re right Jeremy.” The amber-haired girl said, rather reluctantly. “We need to leave, get another teacher.”

‘Jeremy’ moved close to the girl, revealing his face and-

He couldn’t care for the rest of the conversation. For the second time he- he found them again. His Blues- No, the Blues owned by another. He also discovered a name- a certified name. And the house- Hufflepuff was this other-owner-of-Blues’ house. Damn it, if only the Sorting wasn’t a bother for him to listen to!

He carefully set the right side of his gaze onto this ‘Jeremy’. He watched the honey-haired boy continue talking with his peers. After another minute of discussion passed, the group started leaving. He kept his visible Blue trained on Jeremy’s back. And then when he walked out of the corridor, the third year stepped into it.

Watching how that Jeremy rushed in. Witnessing how he easily adapted to fighting without attempting magic. Both experiences plucked at a few, interior strings of his. They allowed his smirk to thrive. However, it was stopped from becoming a smile.

He had to keep on watching him, to start studying him.


	8. Pixies and Strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit, I faced much trouble with this chapter. For anyone(probably most of you) who hadn’t noticed, I had actually posted this up and took it down, two times before. Certain parts needed to be trimmed, a heavy third of the original chapter, and I had to deal with other issues. Thankfully however, it’s here. And I hope you enjoy!

At first, Charms class seemed like it was going to be truly difficult. Despite being rather early, Jeremiah missed the chance to sit with a nearly-late Colin and Ginny(He actually forgot that sharing a class with Colin, meant having a class with her!). His seat neighbors, first-years Kelvin Acker and Alden Lewin, were very different from one another. Alden, being the boy from the previous night’s boat ride, was even more silent and avoidant than before. 

" You’re that Dawner guy, right? I’m Kelvin, but most people know me as ‘Vin! What do you think we’re going to learn about first? Do you think it's going to be a spell about fire? Maybe a spell about Lightning? Or maybe-” Kelvin on the other hand, was as fast of a talker like Colin, and really liked to ask questions.

Having to sit next to them both rattled, and weirded out Jeremiah’s nerves. However the arrival of their teacher, changed that around. The short, roundish man had introduced himself as Professor Flitwick. With a voice full of cheer, he’d encouraged students to raise their hands. He called upon every one of those with genuine questions. He didn’t harshly judge, didn’t reprehend anyone. He also was very good at keeping his student’s attention, not going too fast or slow with his teaching. And as a result, Charms turned out to be enjoyable.

History of Magic unfortunately, was just as Tasim had described it. It was utterly boring, all due to Professor Binns. He talked at a snail’s pace, he fell asleep multiple times, he didn’t introduce himself! Jeremiah had never ever wanted to think of someone, especially a ghost, as tiresome. But Binns absolutely earned that description. Which lead History if Magic to be a bad waste of time.

So in a way, Jeremiah’s first day of school had been a decent one. He had some hope that Defense Against the Dark Arts, might just be good. Especially since it was to be a strange, joint-class made up of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff first and second-years. 

“Let’s hurry and claim our seats!” Colin said excitedly after they met right outside. Although there many student desks, Jeremiah managed to claim one with Colin. While the camera boy had his image-capturing device at the ready, Jeremiah waited as that held hope slowly starting to grow.

But such hope immediately dimmed with HIS entry. “Me, Gilderoy Lockhart!“ As the man descended the stairs to his office, Jeremiah’s fists bawled. “Order of Merlin, Third Class-” The Fame-man proudly listed his achievements, going as far to mention winning an award for Witch Weekly. Jeremiah couldn’t stop a glare from forming. “-But I don’t talk about that.” He wanted, but resisted the urge to object that false statement.

Then the man showed off his pearly, perfect white teeth. Several of the girls tilted their heads, their eyes fluttering. Colin took a picture. “Thank you Mr. Creevey!” And that statement made his seat neighbor glow with glee.

Jeremiah shut his Blues. He whispered to a count to three, and breathed in. He did another count, and breathed out. He was trying. He was trying not to let the man irk him.

After making a comment about everyone having bought all of his books, Lockheart brought out a stack of papers. “Now, I thought we’d start today with...a little quiz!” He wandered down the thin isles, handing them out. When he reached Jeremiah’s table, the honey-haired boy did his best to have a neutral expression. It seemed to work, as Lockheart didn’t spare him a glance. Then once he walked off, Jeremiah huffed and read the quiz over.

What is GILDEROY LOCKHEART’S favorite color?

What, in your opinion, is GILDEROY LOCKHEART’S greatest achievement to date?

What type of GILDEROY LOCKHEART’S favorite brand of Wizarding Shampoo-

“Has something got you angry Jeremy? You...look about ready to rip the quiz in half.”

He was really, really trying to set his judgement aside. Same could be said about him preventing a rumbling, racket of noise from leaving heavy-pressed lips. So he resorted to giving Colin a curt nod.

After thirty minutes, Lockheart called out for quills to be put down. He came around and retrieved the quizzes. He skimmed through each one, uttering many ‘Tutt’s in disappointment. “Hardly any of you remember my favorite color was Lilac!” But that blasted grin returned as he strutted forward. He addressed the girl sitting next to Susan, complementing and giving her a wink.

Jeremiah looked around and about. Thankfully, he wasn’t the one feeling at least uneasy.Some of the second-year Gryffindors had scowls. The Hufflepuff sitting next to Kelvin with arched brows, Albert Durand, looked like the most uncomfortable person alive. And Ginny was scowling, not at all impressed by the man.

“-it might provoke them!” At that yell, Jeremiah aimed his gaze back to the front. 

The sight of the small, cage-wrangling, rapid-talking creatures made him stare in disbelief. He needed to hear someone call them by what they are, before accepting their current existence. “Cornish Pixies?” He also allowed his palm to slap onto his face.

“Laugh if you will Mr. Finnigan-” It was through the cracks between his fingers, that Jeremiah saw Lockheart hover his hand near the cage door.

The honey-haired boy dropped his palm immediately. “No- Don’t tell me.”

“Jeremy?”

“He’s not gonna-”

“Let’s see what you make of them!”

The bloody idiot opened the gate. Those winged creatures of chaos were unleashed. They shot out, knocking over many piles of books. With shrill giggles they went about, attacking and harassing the room and all of the students. A group of them worked together, flipping over a table. A duo sped to Colin, stopping him from fleeing by trying to steal his camera. Ginny bolted, avoiding a few as she reached the exit. Another pair grabbed tuffs of Susan’s hair, biting and yanking them up as she cried out. One headed right for him, barring white-gleaming teeth whilst reaching it’s stumpy hand out-

A DADA book was swung. A hard back-cover met it’s face. It crashed to the floor. Restraints inside of Jeremiah Dawner had snapped.

Wielding two books, He ran. Pixies flew down and at him. They didn’t get to do no harm. He smacked every single one away. And once He reached Colin, He did the same to the wrestling pair.

“Thank-”

“Get out!” He yelled, giving Colin a strong push. While Colin obeyed, He moved his Blues back to Susan. Those damn Pixies now had her dangling. They were pulling and pulling, bringing her and themselves out of the classroom.

Not another second was wasted. As he hurried toward Susan, He whacked some of the little winged creatures that crossed his path. He dodged some others. He was getting closer, closer, closer-

“Duck!” He did just that. A book soared over him. It slammed into one Pixie. A second collided into it. And then a third rammed into the second. As they fell, He looked to see Kelvin pulling him up by the arm. “Let’s go- Let’s go!” And then they both ran.

Outside, Susan and another Hufflepuff were being assaulted. Kelvin hurried over to the other Hufflepuff. In turn, He went over to Susan. She screamed for help. He obliged by throwing his DADA book at one, and wrapping his hands around the other of her tormenting duo.

It tried waggle out of his hold. His grip kept on getting harder and harder. He thought that he might end up strangling the creature. But he was made to let go, for a fist rocked the back of it’s head. Justin Finch-Fletchey had thrown himself into the fray.

“Hit ‘em- HIT ‘EM!”

A group of six was formed. They batted the Pixies. They managed to force them to retreat back into the room. Then after Justin threw a final punch, Susan and the two Hufflepuff first-years shut the door.

* * *

Hours later, a howl of laughter broke out in the Hufflepuff common room. “Ye- You’re serious?”

“The madman set those things loose! And then after a couple ofminutes, he tried to cast a spell.” Standing from the sofa he shared with McManus, Kelvin whimsically took out his wand. “‘Peski-piksi Pester-nomi!’”

Malcom scoffed from his seat between Justin and Hannah. “That’s not even-”

“-Bloody brilliant!” McManus let out another bout of laughs, before cranking his head round. “You hear that Rickett? Your idol isn’t as perfect as you think.”

Rickett, from his table seat across from Alden, said nothing. While his short, mostly curled blonde hair was in full view, his face was hidden by one of Lockheart’s books. He turned to the next page, seeming to ignore the crass comment.

“And there he goes with that act of his. He knows we know his ears are as sharp as a fox’s.” MaManus turned back about and shrugged. “But what are you going to do when he’s like that, hmm?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around ‘He let the Pixies out’. Like- Why did he think that was a good idea?” Malcom asked.

“‘Probably thought it would be some easy, first-hand experience thing for us to handle.” Justin said, not sounding so sure of his own words.

“If that’s the case, then his stupidity has gained a level.”

“Yeah.” Malcom nodded. “He should’ve tried to read up, or at least ask and learn about who taught Defense last year.”

“But he didn’t, making him out to be a dimwit!” McManus yelled with a false cheer.

Kelvin shook his head. “Nah, I think he’s worse, like like a dumb-”

“Can we please stop talking about today?” Hannah spoke up. “I mean, Mr. Lockheart doesn’t deserve any insults. He just made a mistake-”

“How was it a mistake? He’s supposed to be a teacher, someone who helps students learn. But he turned out to be as dumb as a common ass.”

While everyone else frowned at that, McManus clapped and cackled. “Yes, oh yes! Thank you shaggy haired first-year, you made my night! Say, what was your name again?”

“Kelvin Acker.” He stated, before adding: “And I got to beat up some of those Pixies, using my books and my fists.”

McManus slapped a palm onto Kelvin’s shoulder. “Well Kelvin Acker, if I could I would’ve given you ten- maybe fifteen house points by now.”

“Really?”

“That insult was simple as best.”

“Unwanted is what it is, Mr. Lockheart-”

“Oh be quiet second-years! If you two still want to think good about the brain-lacker, I suggest you go sit with Rickett.” McManus ignored the deepened frowns of Justin and Hannah. “Kelvin Acker, you being among the first first-years to punch Pixies deserves-”

He didn’t want to continue listening or watching. His Blues shifted, glancing at both Rickett and Alden. The younger of the two had his head aimed down. He was writing, possibly putting his mind to completing homework. Rickett meanwhile, seemed to have a tighter grip on his book, possibly not doing okay.

He knew that He wasn’t okay. He thought he was going to be wrong about Lockheart. Thought that his assumption was just that, an assumption. Instead, his second-hand doubts him have turned into nothing but ash. He was correct, but he wasn’t filled with any satisfaction. 

Aside from that, he was actually terribly torn. He didn’t know how to feel. He didn’t know what to think. He had a sense of right. He had a sense of wrong. They both were crashing, clashing over how settle the questions troubling, and thundering in his mind.

It's all regarding how he reacted. Regarding what he did against the Pixies. He was trying to decide if he was foolish. Trying to decide if he was smart. Trying to decide on what his-

He dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. He brought his tighten hands next to his ears. His feet increased the pace of their tapping. His head ached while his Blues looked to one window of two. It’s glass frame was enduring the rapidly pouring rain. Unlike the logs of the fireplace, getting consumed by slowly burning flames.

“Hey.” Behind him, Susan sat upon the chair nearest to his. “How are you doing?”

“I-...I’m dealing.”

“Dealing?”

“Yeah...” He couldn’t tell her the truth. Even if for some reason, wanted to, he’d be stopped. Stopped by his problem-

“Thank you.”

He was startled. “What?” He faced her, not sure if he correctly heard her.

“Thank you, for...saving me.”

His hands jerked back. His feet ceased tapping. His Blues ‘bugged-out’. Newfound confusion took him over. “Wha-...Why?”

“What do you mean: ‘Why’?”

“I’m not- I-I’m just a...stranger.” When her brows knitted, his voice was given a shaky push. “You know, Sa-Someone that’s new. Sa-Someone that’s suspicious. Someone tha-that’s different and unusual. Someone you bare-barely know. Someone who ca-can be any number of ba-bad things.” He adverted his gaze. “Do you really want to tha-thank...me?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“I do want to thank you, because you did something good today.” That statement halted more words from leaving his mouth. “Instead of running by like many others, you ran to me. You helped me.” His lips slowly shut. “Not only me, but Justin and that Creevey kid. You helped us three, and those two other two first-years, stop any Pixies from creating havoc outside of class.” Susan leaned forward with a smile. “That deserves a thank you, if not something a bit more.”

“More?”

“Like-”

“-Alright!” With that shout, McManus got up along with Kelvin. “Kelvin Acker, if you stick with me from here on out, I promise you we’ll be ranking up House points and going places.”

“Awesome! But uh, most people call me-”

“After I introduce you to the others, and we have some great fun tomorrow, you can tell us whatever you want to be called by. Deal?”

“Deal!” With that said, Kelvin and McManus headed into the Dormitory halls.

Susan uneasily chuckled. “I was just about to say House points.” But then she pursed her lips. “Though anyone can earn those, as long as they’re not being stupid. So maybe-”

“Ne- No.” He shook his head. “I-I don’t- I shouldn’t get anything. One...’good act’, doesn’t change the fact that I-I’m still a stranger.”

“Not really, I know your name.”

“But-”

“Besides, not all strangers are bad.” In a flash her smile returns. “And I’d like to prove it by getting to know you, past the name.”

His mouth opens and closes. His fingers curl and uncoil. His Blues flicker over and over. He’s shocked to his core. And deep in it: the senses of right and wrong, reforming knots, and the now-trembling pot are all intensifying. Together they mold, bringing about goosebumps and a wave of uncertainty that wants him to go silent.

He doesn’t do such a thing. “I’d like to-” Somehow He breaks apart, and swallows one of the most strongest voice-blocks. “I-I want to know you too, Susan.” Then his wetted Blues finally re-meet her steady dandelion-browns. “Ba-...But I’m not sure on-”

“Asking questions is the best way to learn about people.” As she scoots her chair closer, her smile grows a bit. “I can go first, if you’d like?” 

He instantaneous nods.

“Ok...” For a short while Susan looks up to the ceiling, as if thinking she could find a question on it. But then she snaps her fingers. “Do you like any animals?”

“Butterflies.” He says the first thing that comes to mind. “Me an- I-I really like butterflies, though they’re insects, not animals.”

If Susan noticed his slip up, she didn’t show it. “I like butterflies too! The many different colors, and designs of lines that their wings can have are all pretty. And the fact that caterpillars transform into butterflies, after eating much and going through a deep sleep, is fantastic.” 

“It-It’s like magic.”

“It is Magic.” She declared while her dandelion-browns lit up. Then she giggled. “How about you? Do you like Butterflies for that reason, too?”

“...Sort-of.” He dragged his hands close, letting only the tips of his thumbs connect. “I-I like Butterflies because...they’re a symbol.”

“Symbol?”

“Mo-More like an idea, I guess. A simple, nie-nice idea. The type that ca-can make someone feel fine- feel better. Ba-But I...shouldn’t think of it like that. It isn’t...”

”Isn’t what?”

”I-I...” He hurriedly started pulling his hands far from each other. “I-I don’t know how to-” 

“Say it?”

He laid his hands flat on the table. “Yeah.”

”Well-” 

“Hey Sue?” Hannah walked over and flicked a finger over her shoulder. “Malcom says that it’s an hour before midnight. We should head in, call it a night.”

”Really?” The blonde nodded. “Ok then, I follow right after you in a bit.”  With that said Hannah then left, passing Justin who seemed to be also turning in. 

“We’re going to have to continue this tomorrow, maybe during lunch.” Susan stood up. “I’m not one to stay up late.”

”Are you sa-sure?” 

“Yep. I’m not one for staying up late. And you can take time to think on how, and what to say after sleeping on it.” She beamed down at him, before turning on her heel.

”Wa-Wait.”

”Hmm?” 

He lifted and held out one of his hands. It twitched just as his lips did. “Tha-Thanks. An-And um...goodnight, Susan.” He cringed, but didn’t move his Blues.

Everything about her seemed to brighten as her hand met his own, and gave it a soft squeeze. “You’re welcome Jeremy. Goodnight.”

His Blues followed her until she disappeared behind the girl’s dorm door. They stared at the door for a short while. He felt a strange sense of disappointment. He had wanted, but then gave no try in understanding it. 

His Blues shifted to Malcom. He thought about saying goodnight to him as well. But the fourth-year was in the middle of talking to Rickett, or at least trying to. So He decided to let Makcom be, and went to bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I hope you’re having a good day, if not one that’s great or wonderful.
> 
> Amidst what many of you would call: ‘A world in chaos’, I’m facing my own personal trials. One of them involves the unfinished, varied-in-time untouched stories I have on here, and one on Fanfiction.net. I had finally come to a true, final decision on which to focus on. As of right now, I have decided on two. One of such two, is this idea you’ve read the beginning of.
> 
> I can not promise when exactly I will update. But I can say that with me: experiencing great inspiration, reviewing and making changes to the mentally designed outline, and coming to terms with a few personal trials, I am glad to be working on this again. And I hope that you all, be it the tens or perhaps hundreds of you who find this story, will find entertainment in my writing.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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